A Dame to Kill For
by lonely jester
Summary: "My mother taught me two things as a child: 1. Don't talk to strangers, and 2. Stay out of trouble. I learned two things as an adult: 1. Don't talk to strangers—especially not serial killers, and 2. Shizuru Fujino was a magnet for trouble." AU.
1. Chapter 1

_I know what you're thinking: where the hell have you been? Well, I'll tell ya: every time I tried to write the next chapter of Sucker Punch, this huge block sat on my keyboard and refused to move. I've named him Harry. Then, a tempestuous gal named Irene kicked me outta my own house (and tore up the East Coast in the process), so I've been shooting the breeze with no Internet. Between Harry and Irene, plus copious amounts of boredom, I basically sat down and hammered out two chapters for Once Upon Another Time (coming soon!) The second one bit me in the hand and turned into this film noir-esque piece of work, its inspirations being Tracer Bullet and Sin City. It should only be several chapters long, and I promise I haven't given up on Sucker Punch! Alright, no one actually reads this, so I'll quit my yapping and let you get on with it._

_This story contains: Foul language, murder, mayhem, and [references to] casual sex. Sounds like a typical day in my life. ;P_

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><p>Boots up on the desk, pea coat slung behind my chair. The revolvers resting on my hips are cold against skin; autumn's really getting into the swing of things and the damn landlady turned off the heat. The clock tells me it's really late. Or really early, depending on how you look at things.<p>

I flipped through the file of my last case. Missing person case; guy looking for his runaway girlfriend. She was too easy to find—the woman ran straight back into an ex's arms. Boyfriend forgot to mention that he liked to smack women around for fun, which might explain her absence. I reminded myself to charge him twice my usual rate and briefly wondered if I should tell him the girl's ex is in the Mafia before dismissing the thought. I'm not a saint.

A cup of cold coffee sitting by my hand called my name, but then I saw the burnt-out cigarette floating on top and decided I wasn't that desperate. Yet.

I considered going down to Linden Baum Diner to finally get myself a decent meal when the phone rang.

I stretched out a hand towards it, too lazy to actually sit up in my chair. "Kuga."

A pause. "Are you the detective?"

"Yeah. Who's asking?"

The man hesitated. "You take murder cases?"

Feet off the desk, straighten up in my chair. I reached for a pen. "Depends on the circumstances."

"14 Fuuka Avenue. You familiar with the place?"

The pen stopped twirling in my hand. "Yeah, I know it."

"Can I expect you anytime soon?"

"I'll drop by in an hour."

The voice sounded relieved. "Thank—"

I hung up. A glance at the window showed that dawn was nowhere near approaching, and the night wasn't too friendly to most individuals. Good thing I'm not most.

I swung on my coat and grabbed my car keys. I don't even have to check for the pair of revolvers on either side of me—cold steel is always at my fingertips, as well as the brass knuckles in my pocket and the knife in my boot. A weapon a day keeps the psychos away.

Gotta make sure I have my ID, too—some people get jumpy around me, thinking I'm a cop.

I'm not. Natsuki Kuga, private investigator. You might ask why anyone would hire a PI for a murder instead of calling the police, but this is Windbloom City—chances are, the murderer _was_ a cop.

That doesn't mean all our cops are scumbags—just most. Windbloom City has a perturbingly high rate of police brutality.

The elevator was still broken, so I took the stairs. Two punks eyed me as I walked to my car. My coat was swept to the side as I reached for my keys, coincidentally giving them a flash of my guns. They scattered.

14 Fuuka Avenue was Garderobe, a _very_ exclusive strip club and escort agency located in the heart of Windbloom City's entertainment (read: red-light) district. The general rule at Garderobe was 'look, don't touch'—but rules could very easily be broken, especially for the right price.

The line of people waiting for entry burned holes in me with resentful eyes as the bouncer let me through with a nod. The Garderobe girls who were otherwise unoccupied by clients called out greetings as I headed for the manager's office. My face is well known around here—take that as you will.

None of the girls looked particularly worried or distressed, but they _were_ born actresses—it isn't easy faking love night after night. At my first knock, a young, good-looking guy with dark hair opened the door.

I frowned at him. "Where's Graceburt?"

"Retired. I'm her son, Reito Kanzaki." He shut the door behind me and sat down heavily behind the desk. "She said I should call you if I ran into any trouble."

"And I suppose by trouble, you mean a dead body."

"Make that dead _bodies_ and you have the general idea." Reito shrugged.

I raised an eyebrow. "Someone killing off your girls? Hate to break it to you, but not many people care if a few prostitutes are murdered."

He studied me carefully. "I prefer the term 'escort.' Are you one of those people?"

"No. I'm just letting you know that it's unlikely the killer will be found."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing the victims are clients, not escorts."

Well, that threw me for a fucking loop. "Interesting. Why haven't you contacted our illustrious police department? God knows they'd care more about a dead businessman than a dead prostitute—sorry, escort."

"I want to keep this as quiet as possible, not scare off any customers. Besides, they don't know that the victims have certain things in common."

"The cops don't know the murdered were all Garderobe clients?" Typical. The Windbloom City Police Department has two settings: lazy or corrupt. Or both.

"That's correct."

"You have hundreds of clients; I'm surprised you noticed a few went missing."

Reito shrugged again. "They were among the highest paying customers. You would notice, too, if an extra hundred thousand dollars stopped coming in every week."

"I think I sold my soul for a little less than that."

Reito smiled wistfully to himself. "Believe me, she's worth every penny."

I frowned. "You're telling me that you made all that money off of _one_ escort? Jesus Christ, she must be one hell of a good lay."

"It's not just that! She's requested for public and private services all the time. People will gladly pay through the teeth for her because she's absolutely stunning to look at, a witty conversationalist—"

"Down, boy, down," I dryly interrupted. "I didn't ask for her credentials. What's her name?" I had a sneaking suspicion that it was—

"Viola. Well, that's her pseudonym; I'm legally obliged to withhold her real name."

I crossed my arms and scoffed disdainfully. "Shizuru Fujino. Of _course_ she'd be in the middle of this."

He looked startled by my reaction. Surprise gave way to ill-concealed jealousy; the kid really had to work on his poker face. "You know her?"

"Unfortunately. What are the names of the victims?"

"Uh—" He shuffled through the mess of papers on his desk before pulling out three photographs. "Yuuichi Tate, Miya Clochette, and Nagi Dai Artai. All murdered in the past two weeks."

I looked them over. The first two were nondescript individuals: Tate was a blond guy with prominent sideburns, Clochette a brunette with a big forehead. The third victim I recognized. "Dai Artai is—was—that albino politician. His body was found only two days ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but the police couldn't catch the murderer for the first two and I sure as hell don't believe they'll catch whoever it is now. I ignored the first two incidents, but Dai Artai's death is too much of a coincidence." He looked hopeful when I suddenly stood up. "Does this mean you're taking the case?"

"Lucky for you. I'll start by questioning Fujino."

"Is that really necessary?"

I leveled my best 'are-you-fucking-kidding?' stare at him. He sighed. "Well, try to be gentle. She's very fragile right now because of Dai Artai."

I snorted. "Her, _fragile_? Clearly you don't know her as well as you'd like." I smirked as he sputtered in protest. "Don't worry, I promise not to tell her about your little crush. She in today?"

"She should be in her dressing room. Do you know how to get there—?"

I turned on my heel and headed backstage, where the girls prepped before their "performances."

The dressing room reminded me of the ones you'd find in a theater—a row of vanity mirrors, glittery makeup spread askew on desks, clothing racks filled with different pieces of lingerie. Outside of all its negative connotations, striptease was just another form of dance, an art requiring sensuality and fluidity. These girls were performers—they just wore less clothing than most other entertainers.

Three doors on the other side of the room were the private dressing rooms, the special privileges granted to Garderobe's star acts. The woman I was looking for was behind the middle door, the room reserved for the best.

I sauntered in like I owned the place. "Anybody miss me?" Damn if I didn't feel special at hearing the happy shouts that greeted me.

The door of the rightmost private dressing room opened a crack and a familiar redhead poked out her head. "Why is everyone so goddamn loud!" Our eyes connected and a lazy smirk crept over her face. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. You look terrible."

"Miss me, Juliet?"

"Bitch, it's Nao. Only clients call me Juliet, and I wouldn't do you for all the money in the world."

"I have better things to do, thanks," I shot back.

"Whatever, Kuga. Why are you here?"

"Can't I see how old friends are doing?"

"Please. You're too selfish for that to be true." Nao craned her head towards the right. "CHIE! Look who decided to grace us with her presence!"

I rolled my eyes when the leftmost door opened and a mess of dark hair poked through. "Speak of the devil! Natsuki!"

"Hello, Chie."

Chie damn near skipped towards me and swung me several inches off the floor into a bone-crushing hug. She reminded me of a greyhound puppy: tall, thin, wiry—all legs and no curves—and all-too-easily excitable. She suddenly stopped and looked down at me mock-seductively. "Why Miss Kuga, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"You wish."

Throughout all the commotion, the middle door stayed firmly shut. Nao followed my gaze to the closed door and smiled mischievously. "Chie, I don't think she's here to see _us_."

Understanding dawned in mocha eyes. "_Ohhhh_. HEY, SHIZ—"

I clamped my hand over her mouth and looked at her disapprovingly. "Chie, getting her to talk to me will take some finesse. You shouting at her won't help."

"Mmmph-mm," she mumbled. I took that as an agreement and removed my hand.

I took a deep breath. "OI! FUJINO!"

Chie looked confused. "I thought you said shouting at her wouldn't help?"

"I said that _you_ shouting wouldn't help," I corrected. "Shouting is the only way _I_ can get her attention."

The door opened, cutting off Chie's reply and creating a silence throughout the room. The kind of silence that appears when you see someone so beautiful, you actually can't breathe, and it almost makes you wonder if some higher power decided to actually take some time to mold this person instead of saying 'fuck it' and throwing the genetic dice.

Shizuru Fujino had that effect on people. You don't meet a woman like her every day—she was a stone cold fox with a backbone of tempered steel; the type of woman who'd break your heart, your wallet, and even your hand (if you put it in the wrong place) without batting an eyelash. And she'd look damn good while doing it.

She leaned on the doorframe and raised an eyebrow. "Hello, Sherlock." She languidly crossed her legs, her thigh-high fishnet tights just drawing your eyes to her legs like a cokehead to crack. She was dressed to kill tonight, creamy breasts practically spilling out of the top of her dark red corset. The color matched her eyes.

I racked my brain for famous prostitutes, but came up with a blank. "Aphrodite." Agh, lame. A few of the girls _awwed_. Damn it, they think I'm being affectionate. I glared at them.

"I thought I told you to stay away." She didn't look too thrilled to see me, but at least she wasn't throwing things. Yet.

At least thirty pairs of eyes watched to see what I'd do next. I'm not much of an exhibitionist, so I just brushed past her and sat on her couch. She closed the door in their curious faces and put on a silk robe before coming to stand in front of me.

I avoided her gaze by looking at the closed door. I'd bet a million bucks that eager ears were pressed up against it right now, waiting to hear some drama unfold. I hoped I wouldn't disappoint.

She started the kickoff. "What do you want?"

"Nice to see you, too, Shizuru."

"Viola," she interrupted. "It's Viola when I'm on the clock."

I ignored her. "Your rates went up. How much are you charging nowadays?"

"More than you can afford."

I scoffed. "Been there, done that."

Her look would've cut through diamond. I took the three photographs from my pocket and held them up before the conversation escalated into another fight. "What do you know about them?"

Something flashed through her eyes before settling into a cool indifference. "The blond was something of a limp dick—a extremely wealthy one, though. Miya mostly just wanted companionship, but she was decent enough in bed. Dai Artai was a real asshole, but his bite definitely lived up to his bark, if you know what I mean."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know anything else about them _other_ than their performances in the sack?"

"Jealous?" Her smirk was predatory.

"I'm not getting paid to find out who's the best fuck, I'm getting paid to find out who killed them."

"Ah. Good luck with that." She poured herself a glass of wine, offering the bottle toward me with a raised eyebrow.

I shook my head. "No thanks. You don't seem too cut up about their murders."

She took a sip of wine. "As I see it, this is Windbloom City. Shit happens."

I scrutinized her. Her nonchalant stance seemed a little too relaxed, her expression at little too unconcerned. "I need you to cancel any appointments you have for the next week."

"Not going to happen."

"Why not?" I pressed.

"Not only would I be disappointing my loyal clients, I would be causing Reito to lose business. The guilt would almost be too much to bear." Sarcastic as fuck, that woman. She sat before her mirror and began applying makeup.

"The guy has a huge-ass crush on you. He'd probably jump off a building if you asked." Oops, I forgot I wasn't supposed to spill the beans. Well, I never said I played nice.

Her lips twitched. "I know." And she probably would, too, just for kicks.

A deep voice floated through the door. "Why are you all crowding around this door? Go out there and start dancing!" Faint giggles were heard before there was a knock.

"Enter," Shizuru called out.

Reito poked his big head in. "Viola, are you ready?" He looked at me suspiciously, afraid that the brute detective had bullied the innocent courtesan (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one.)

"I'll be right out, Reito." He nodded and shut the door.

I got up to stand behind her. She was taller than me, definitely more so in heels, but it's not the size of the dog in the fight or whatever. "Can I at least see a list of your clients for the past two weeks and the upcoming week?"

Her eyes flicked downwards before connecting with mine in the mirror. "I'm afraid Garderobe has a client-confidentiality policy." She winked. "It's to keep out snoops like you."

I scowled. "Are you going to be helpful at all during this investigation?"

She abruptly stood and turned around, our bodies only inches apart. A strange tension permeated the air before she smirked. "It seems unlikely. Good bye, Natsuki—I'm sure you can see yourself out." With that, she brushed past me.

I gritted my teeth and watched her go. Infuriating, impossible woman—I didn't _need_ her help, per se, but it would make my life a damn lot easier.

Well, two could play that game. I shut the door and locked it before pulling on a pair of leather gloves and taking out my lock kit. Did she think I wouldn't notice her glance at the top drawer of her vanity when I asked for a list of her clientele? The smallest things give away the most.

The drawer's lock was a breeze to pick, as I'd expected. There wasn't much; a wad of cash, driver's license, an old photograph that made me smile. And bingo! A small black planner. Flipping through the thin pad, I smirked at seeing names, dates, and addresses written in elegant script.

This seemed like a good enough place to start.

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><p><em>Now I shall rely on your reviews to tell me if this chapter was a good enough place to start! ;)<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Nighthawks by Edward Hopper. Look it up. Sums up the mood for this story perfectly._

_I was researching strip clubs for this story when my mom walked in. Cue awkward silence and "I swear it's not for me!" 0.o Then on Thursday, a concert, ate pizza with a homeless man, and stayed out until 5 in the morning. It has had an impact on this chapter, as you shall see._

_Thanks for reading/reviewing. Continue on, brave soldier._

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><p>In Hollywood, the suave detective brilliantly discovers some important, overlooked detail at the scene of the crime. Then he has some epiphany that leads straight to the identity of the murderer. Cue life-or-death struggle. The killer ends up behind bars, the hero rides off into the sunset. La-di-fucking-da and all that jazz.<p>

Well, that's not me. If being a private investigator were easy, I'd be schmoozing it up at the Ritz, a martini in one hand and a pretty lady in the other. Instead, I'm sitting in the booth of a 24-hour diner, drinking crappy coffee and avoiding the gaze of an overly amorous waitress. Such is life.

The bell on the door jingled, announcing an entrance. My job-saver, detective-soulmate, and occasional friend slid into the seat across me. I raised my coffee cup in silent salute. "Mai. Can I get you anything? Coffee, donut?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "For the _last_ time, not all cops like donuts. Some of us actually like to be healthy."

"Says the chain-smoker."

"Shut it." She lit up a cig and offered me one. Tempting, but I resist.

Remember what I said about Windbloom City cops? How they're all lazy, corrupt scumbags who were no better than the crooks they arrested? Well, forget all that regarding Mai—she's one of the few honest cops this city desperately needs. Too bad no good deed goes unpunished. The police commissioner, a real piece of work named Shiho Huit, hates Mai's guts. She'll never be promoted higher than a sergeant.

She raised an eyebrow and blew smoke into my face. "I can almost see the rusty gears grinding away in that empty space you call a head."

"Just thinking."

"What about?"

"Deep, philosophical thoughts that you wouldn't understand."

"Right." She looked unconvinced but changed the subject. "You kinda look like shit. When's the last time you slept?"

I shrugged. "Two days ago, but that's not the point. Did you bring it?"

She opened her bag and took out a thin case file stamped 'confidential.' It made me chuckle; in this city, 'Confidential' might as well mean 'Fucking read me NOW.'

Mai smacked my hand away as I reached for it. "I hope you know this goes against everything I stand for."

"So don't look." I jerked it out of her grasp and opened the folder. Glossy photographs perfectly captured Dai Artai's cloudy pale eyes, expensive suit dripping with water and creating a large puddle, lower jaw already half-nibbled away by the itty-bitty creatures of the Windbloom River. My eyes were drawn to a neat hole above one ear and the gaping hole above the other, brain matter and bone fragments playing hide-and-seek in white hair. A sight that not even Helen Keller could miss.

"Wow, he's a looker."

Mai chuckled grimly and tapped the photograph. "See the way his legs were tied together? Something heavy was probably attached to his feet so his body wouldn't come back up, but it must've slipped off."

"Approximate time and place of death?" I moved to the next photo. Yeesh, his face looked even worse up close.

"Hard to say. The coroner said it must've been at least a day before he washed up on shore."

"Any suspects?"

She wordlessly slid the autopsy report toward me. I quickly scanned it before gaping at her. "A _suicide_? So he shot himself, drove to the river, tied his own legs together, and went for a swim?"

"Apparently, yes. Dai Artai's wife corroborated the story. Said he'd been 'withdrawn' for the past few months and that his prized Ferrari was gone from the garage. She didn't think much of it because he liked to go for 'long, invigorating drives at night,'" Mai dryly quoted.

"Right. Because Dai Artai was the most faithful husband ever, grand theft auto is practically unheard of in our fair city, and I'm a virgin."

Mai snorted. "Your severe lack of virginity is nothing to be proud of. And you're right—the coroner is the type of guy who'd turn in his own mother if there was a reward."

"Somebody warn his mother."

"She's just as bad. And we wonder about kids these days…"

I wouldn't know anything about mothers or childhood in general, so I just smiled and nodded. That usually works on people. "So everyone's just ignoring the blatant holes in the coroner's verdict?"

"It hasn't been made official yet, but in everyone's minds the case is closed. The fact that there were no bruises on Dai Artai's body indicate that there was no struggle, meaning he died willingly…"

"…or the person who shot him was the last person he'd expected," I finished for her. "Angry wife? Traitorous bodyguard?"

"Or spurned lover, perhaps?" Her tone was airy, but her eyes were like hard amethyst. She knew something, and I had a hunch I knew what it was.

I studied her carefully. "You don't happen to have the case files on Yuuichi Tate and Miya Clochette in that magical bag of yours, do you?"

Mai stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. "You're being more curious than usual."

"Am I?"

"You are. Curiosity killed the cat, you know." She lit up another smoke.

"Really? I thought it was the cigarettes, booze, and poor lifestyle choices that did it in." I eyed the cigarette in her hand.

She caught my gaze and scowled. "Hardy-har-har. Anyways, I thought it was weird that you were interested in three seemingly unrelated deaths, especially since none were determined as homicides. So I did a little research of my own."

"You get an A for showing initiative."

She ignored my retort. "I was intrigued to see Garderobe come up as a common interest among the recently departed. You're intimate with the place, aren't you?"

See, what'd I tell you? If I ever murder someone, I'd pray to God the investigating officer wasn't Mai. Heh, maybe my first murder should be her so she couldn't catch me for my second.

I dismissed my morbidly amusing thoughts. "Define 'intimate.'"

Mai smirked. "How's Shizuru doing?"

I scowled at her. "I wouldn't know. Do you have the files or not?"

"First was Yuuichi Tate, CEO of the Windbloom Sports Club chain. His housekeeper found him unresponsive in his room; he was later declared dead at Windbloom General Hospital due to an accidental overdose."

"Overdose on what?"

"Sleeping pills. He didn't have a prescription for them, so obviously someone gave them to him." Mai's eyes narrowed. "People who work at night often use sleeping pills, did you know that?"

"Like cops?" I suggested.

"Or escorts. How did you say Shizuru was doing, again?" Her tone wasn't as playful as before.

Alright, alright, I got the not-so-subtle hints. I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind.

"Truthfully, I don't know." I fixed her with a look. She nodded and continued.

"The Clochettes are an old socialite family, but the family fortune's dwindling and its social standing plummeting. For a reputed party-girl like Miya, that might constitute enough reason to jump off the Windbloom Bridge in the middle of the night. No eyewitnesses."

"Committing suicide over losing Daddy's wallet is a bit drastic, don't you think?"

Mai shrugged. "Who knows what goes through the minds of the young and rich?

"Drugs, sex, money, money, sex, drugs?"

"Just like us plebeians, then."

"Absolutely." I stood up and tossed a few bills onto the table. "Thanks for your help, Mai."

She gathered Dai Artai's file and placed it back in her bag. "You don't want to look at Tate or Clochette's files?"

I raised an eyebrow. If she had the files, why didn't she just show them to me in the first place? "Sure."

"That's too bad, because I don't have them." She frowned at me. "Do you know why I hate giving you access to confidential police files? Because you might use it for 'good,'" she air-quoted, "but that means someone can also use it for 'evil'—you get what I'm saying?"

"You sound like a cliché from a bad superhero movie, but yeah. Their files are gone?"

"Vanished into thin air. I submitted an inquiry, but those files will probably never see the light of day again. You're not the only one with a vested interest in these deaths—somebody was intent on having all evidence disappear." She studied the dying ember of her cigarette. "I hope you know what you're doing, Natsuki."

"Yeah, me too," I muttered.

_-000-000-_

I brooded over the messy state of things as I walked aimlessly around. First of all, the Windbloom Police Department may be rotten to the core, but it isn't some two-bit hooker you can pay to fuck and chuck. Bribing the law is damn expensive, and not everybody can do it.

I frowned as a thought struck me. Shizuru had raised her price with no explanation, and of course Reito had been too fucking delighted with the extra cash to ask why. I guess that left it up to me to ask.

Still, what was more confusing was that someone had bribed the coroner to declare the murders as accidental deaths or suicides, and then bribed an employee in the department archives to get rid of the files. It made no sense—you could do one or the other, but you couldn't do both. Doing both was more conspicuous, and the killer had to know that.

I looked at my watch. It was late enough that Shizuru wouldn't be on stage right now, and I remembered from looking at her planner that she didn't have a personal client tonight. I took out my phone and punched in a number I knew by heart.

"Hello?"

I frowned. It was not the voice I'd expected. "Nao?"

There was a pause as she tried to identify my voice. "Natsuki?"

"What are you doing with Shizuru's phone?"

"What are you doing calling it?" She sounded genuinely curious rather than her normal sarcastic.

"Never mind that. Can I talk to her?"

"Hang on." There was a _beep_ and a tinny echo that indicated the speakerphone had been turned on. "Hey Shizuru! Natsuki's on the line!"

I groaned at hearing a chorus of 'oohs.' "Nao, take me off speakerphone."

"No way. This is too good to pass up."

"How did you get this number?" Shizuru's voice rose above the din on the other line.

"Hello to you, too," I retorted.

"I seem to recall changing my number."

"Uh, hello? Private investigator here?" I waved my hand sarcastically, even though she couldn't see it.

"Is that your way of admitting you stalk me?"

I scowled at hearing titters on the other line. "Don't flatter yourself. Can you take me off speakerphone so we can talk privately?"

"I would, but I'm too wet."

I choked on saliva. "_Excuse_ me?"

There was an explosion of laughter before Nao's voice wheezed out, "Jeez, Kuga, she's in the shower. What were you thinking?"

"Dirty, dirty thoughts, I'm sure," Chie's voice chimed in.

Well, _now_ I was thinking about Shizuru in the shower. I could distinguish the sound of cascading water if I concentrated hard enough; they were probably in Garderobe's shower room, washing up after a long night.

I tried to will away thoughts of a naked, soapy Shizuru. Gah, I just made it worse. "Shizuru, why did you raise your rates?"

"Why not? People pay it."

"Never knew you were so greedy."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," she said languidly.

"Who and when is your next client?"

"Sorry, client-confidentiality policy." Her voice was briefly muffled—probably drying herself off and putting on clothes.

"So Friday, 7:00 PM at the Wang Gallery with that famous artist, Anh Lu? Sounds good, I'll see you there," I said airily. I grinned at hearing the others laugh, probably at Shizuru's expression.

"How did you—"

"Your planner is very well organized. I'm almost jealous; mine is a hot mess and I never know where it is half the time."

"I remember." Her voice was quiet; she must've turned off the speakerphone and left the shower room. "You went through my possessions? Intrusive."

"Tenacious," I corrected. "So where were you last Wednesday night?"

"The night Miya died?"

"Yes."

"Sleeping at home, I suppose. It was my day off."

Well, the day off part was true. "Okay." I stuck out a hand and flagged down a taxi.

"You're not going to ask me where I was for Yuuichi's death?"

"Should I?" I slid into the backseat and told the driver, "Windbloom Bridge."

"You're not a very good detective if you don't."

"Alright, where were you?"

"Having dinner with Reito."

Ugh, she did that on purpose. Now I have to confirm her alibi with Pretty Boy. "Is it a good idea to lead your boss on?"

"Who says I'm leading him on?"

"Oh, please. You probably turned on the charm full blast before leaving him with blue balls."

Her sly laugh told me I wasn't wrong. "Maybe. But I only ever meant to talk about business."

"I think you've forgotten what it is exactly that you do," I said dryly.

"You're right, I don't quite recall. Care to remind me?"

Shizuru has only two conditional responses: fight or flirt. She's a professional at both, as I'm constantly reminded.

"Maybe next time. I have to go, Shizuru." The taxi was nearing the bridge.

"No more questions, Sherlock?"

"For now."

"Good, I was getting tired. And Natsuki?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you dress up on Friday." She hung up. It annoys the shit out of me when she gets the last word.

I slipped the phone into my pocket and motioned for the driver to pull over. "Right here's good."

I idly wondered if a lot of people asked him to drive them to the bridge so they could jump off it. Maybe Miya took a taxi here.

"$5.70."

I slipped him a few bills. He grunted and looked at me through the rear view mirror. "Well, at least I know you're not going to kill yourself."

"How do you know?" I stood back. The glare from overhead street lamps elongated my shadow on the empty street.

"The suicidal ones usually tip better." He drove off.

Smartass. I headed for the bridge's pedestrian walkway. There were ribbons and flowers tied to the railing up ahead, marking the place where Miya had allegedly jumped. Tribute from her friends, I suppose; I heard her family had disavowed any connection with the youngest Clochette after her "shameful suicide."

I leaned against the railing and peered down into the Windbloom River. Years of lax sewage disposal policy and the factories dotting its banks made the river a toxic wasteland, the battleground of Godzilla and Mothra. I swear to God I've seen a fish with legs in there before. Anyways, it doesn't detract from the fact that it's a steep drop. The railing was about waist-high—high enough to keep from accidentally falling in; low enough to easily climb over…or be pushed over.

A wheezing cough broke the silence. I spun around, guns immediately in hand.

A man that seemed more like a collection of dirt and rags than human immediately skittered back. "Easy, girly! Just wanted to make sure you were alright, is all."

I eyed the scruffy homeless man. He looked drunk out of his mind, but not much of a threat. I put away my guns. "Sneaking up on people doesn't make the best impression."

He raised his hands. "Sorry. I thought you were going to take a tumble, like the other girl."

My blood ran cold. Mai had said no eyewitness—but then again, it _was _the WCPD. "When was this?"

"I don't know. Last week?"

"Was she a brunette? About my height?"

He scratched his stubble. "Which one?"

"There was another woman?"

He eyed me suspiciously. "You with the po-po?"

"No."

He nodded, pleased. "Good. So that night I was sleeping on my usual bench," He pointed to a bench hidden in the shadows, barely visible in the dark, "when this woman walks up from where you came from and stands where you're standing right now. She must've been there for ten, fifteen minutes when a taxi pulls up and another woman comes rushing out—short brunette dressed equally as fancy. Pretty little thing."

So Miya did take a taxi here. The thought makes me sad, for some reason.

"The woman who came out of the taxi seemed surprised to see the other woman. They talked for a bit. Then the first woman trapped the short brunette against the railing, kissed her, and pushed her over the railing. I hid until she left because I didn't want to be thrown over, too." He beamed at me like a little boy seeking approval.

I ran a restless hand through my hair. Jack-fucking-pot. "Why didn't you report this to the police?" I opened my wallet and handed him all the money in my wallet, which admittedly wasn't much.

He pocketed the money with delight. "Bad people. Sometimes they beat me for fun."

And that is why, ladies and gentlemen, you do not mistreat the homeless. Chances are, they will know shit about you that will fuck your life up. "Can you tell me one more thing?"

He paused, already shuffling away. "Hmm?"

"Describe the first woman."

"Tall. Didn't see her face, but she had long hair. It was a pretty color, like honey." He shrugged bashfully before disappearing into the shadows.

Fuck. I didn't like where this was all adding up, but 2 plus 2 equals 4. Even if 4 is a familiar…acquaintance.

I rested my chin against the railing and looked down into the black water. Its tranquil surface was nothing but a lie—everything was deeper and darker than it seemed.

* * *

><p><em>School starts tomorrow. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for your reviews! I made this chapter a bit longer than usual 'cause you guys are just so awesome ;)_

* * *

><p>The funny thing about death is that it really boosts your reputation. Kick the bucket, and people will suddenly remember why they liked you.<p>

At least, that's how I assumed Yuuichi Tate's neighbors would act if I asked them. I couldn't be sure; he had lived in a gated community so exclusive you needed a personal invite from a resident just to get in. The castle walls to keep out the peasants, so to speak.

I'm usually good at getting into places where I'm not wanted, but it would be a waste of my time; the crime scene was two weeks old. Besides, the rich are surprisingly adept at detecting bullshit that's not their own.

It didn't matter if my lack of a 6-figure paycheck kept me from questioning Tate's neighbors; they probably wouldn't have noticed him dead until the smell alerted them. His police file was also missing. Everything considered, I was looking at a dead end.

And where else to store dead ends but at a hospital morgue?

The lobby of Windbloom General Hospital had that clean, sterile aura I detested. The receptionist didn't smile as I approached. "Can I help you?"

"Can you direct me to the morgue?" I gave her my best 'bereaved family member' smile.

She seemed unimpressed. Grieving family members had nothing on her—she probably kicked babies and drowned puppies in her spare time. "Basement floor. You'll need authorization to enter."

I nodded my thanks and turned the corner. My gaze fell on a door marked 'Lockers.' Perfect.

I slipped inside and began to search the lockers. Today was my lucky day: the first unlocked locker I'd come upon had the owner's lab coat and stethoscope inside.

I slung the stethoscope around my neck and donned the coat before adjusting its nametag. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Kruger.

The white lab coat elevated me above suspicion by the hospital staff, even garnering me a few polite nods as I entered the elevator. Funny how if there's a 'Dr.' before your name, people will gladly put their life in your hands.

The hospital's basement floor was dedicated entirely to storing bodies. There was a palpable chill in the air that came from the required temperature to slow down decomposition, and the place was devoid of the movement of the upper floors.

A morgue attendant looked up in surprise from his book—probably wasn't used to live human interaction. "If you're looking for Dr. Helene, she'll be back soon."

Confidence was key here. I had no idea who Dr. Helene was, but made all plans to avoid her. "That's all right, I won't take long. "

He shrugged and didn't make a move to stop me from going beyond the doors marked 'Authorized Entry Only.' Huh, all I had to do was flutter my eyelashes and I'd be given access to numerous corpses. If I ever became an organ harvester, Windbloom General would be my port of call.

Stainless steel tables were situated in the middle of the room, shining underneath fluorescent lighting. Against the wall were square, individual compartments for each cadaver; human breadboxes neatly organized—alphabetically, no less—in rows and columns. Ironic how human propensity for maintaining order continued postmortem. Now, did 'T' come before or after 'S'?

"Can I help you?" A voice coolly interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see a pretty brunette doctor glaring at me. "Dr. Helene, I presume?"

"Yes, and you are?"

"Dr. Kruger." I gestured to my nametag.

"Right. Is that what you'll be telling the police?" She raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" Ah, damn. Caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"Dr. Kruger happens to be a friend of mine. So you are?"

I shrugged. What the hell. "I'm investigating Yuuichi Tate's murder. Are you the coroner?"

"Youko Helene, medical examiner. Are you a cop?"

Hah, the WCPD _wished_ they had me. "Natsuki Kuga, private investigator."

"I should call security." She eyed me suspiciously.

I made a face. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't. I'm just trying to solve this murder."

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time." She waved dismissively. "Why don't we step into my office?"

I cautiously followed her into an adjacent room. She sat behind a desk and motioned for me to sit down. "It's against hospital policy to speak of our patients, deceased or otherwise, but I'll make an exception in this case."

"I assume it's for a reason other than my winning personality?" I said dryly.

She smirked. "You assume correctly. But first, what were you planning to do with Mr. Tate's body?"

I shrugged. "Just to see if my detecting skills were up to par. I think his overdose wasn't so accidental."

"And I agree, which is the only reason I'm helping you out."

"Lovely. So what makes you think it was a murder, Doc?"

Youko rolled her eyes at the nickname. "When a patient comes in for a suspected drug overdose, we generally pump their stomachs, and somebody has to manually count the number of pills ingested."

"I hope the job benefits are worth it."

"Probably not. Anyway, a lethal dose of sleeping pills would take some time to be absorbed by the bloodstream, but Tate's stomach had no pills inside at all."

I frowned. "So he didn't overdose on them?"

"Oh no, he did. Lab analysis of his stomach's contents showed he ingested at least two bottles worth of sleeping pills, and antiemetics, which prevent vomiting. I'm thinking that the pills were ground into a fine powder and mixed in with his food or drink."

"He was poisoned?"

"It's not as obvious as it would have been with cyanide or arsenic, but yes, I'd consider this murder by poison."

"And his death was still declared accidental?"

She scowled. "Not my choice, believe me. The hospital director took a personal interest and insisted I record cause of death as accidental overdose. It was either that or lose my job, and since I'm here…"

I nodded. "Can you just tell me one more thing?"

"If I can."

"What was his last meal?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Lobster, some type of vegetable…alcohol, too, which certainly didn't help with the pills."

"Would you describe it as typical dinner-party fare? Something you'd serve to impress guests?"

"I suppose so?" She looked puzzled by my question.

I stood and shook her hand. "Thanks for your help, Doc. I appreciate it."

"Yes, well, next time, don't sneak into the morgue. It gives off all sorts of wrong impressions."

I laughed. "You think there's going to be a next time?"

"Have you _seen_ our city?" Youko smiled wryly.

"Touché."

"And take off that coat, you're committing identity theft."

I smirked and left her office. Two more clues toward solving the murders, and one more contact to add to my list. Not a bad haul.

Anyone who got on the elevator might've wondered why a lab coat and stethoscope were left crumpled on the floor like the exoskeleton of some strange insect. I wouldn't know, though, since I was already gone—Anh Lu's exhibition opening was tonight, and I needed to call in a favor.

_-000-000-_

The building smelled musty and had peeling wallpaper in the hallways, a television could be heard through paper-thin walls three apartments down, and I had to sidestep questionable stains on the carpet. And still it was in infinitely better shape than my own office-cum-apartment.

I knocked on one of the faded green doors. "It's me."

Before I could blink, the door flew open and a sawed-off shotgun was pointed between my eyes. I instinctively ducked, revolvers in my hands and immediately pointing back.

"Haruka! Put down the gun and let Natsuki in!" A calm voice called from the depths of the apartment.

"Killjoy," the blonde grumbled and lowered the gun.

I holstered my guns and pushed past her. "Jesus Christ, Haruka, a _shotgun_? What were you expecting, a grizzly bear?"

"Sorry. " She's not, I can tell. "Yukino's been getting more death threats than usual."

I tensed. "Do they know who she is?"

Haruka snorted. "No, but after the last piece she published, her office mailbox was flooded with hate mail."

Yukino Kikukawa's a freelance writer who's convinced that the pen is mightier than the sword. I happen to think gun trumps both, but no one asked me.

If it's something terrible and sordid, Yukino probably did a piece on it. Blasting Windbloom's drug trafficking, prostitution, corruption—her words are hard to swallow, but she's one of those annoying smooth-talkers that can make everyone agree with her in five minutes or less. She'd make a great politician if she didn't piss off the city's officials, social elite, and gangs so much by naming names and pointing fingers.

The only things protecting her from a long list of enemies are several pseudonyms and a blonde mercenary with no last name. I have no idea where Haruka came from or what her life was like before meeting Yukino, but something about her puts me on edge. Don't get me wrong—I like her and she's fiercely protective of Yukino—but if I had to choose between being stuck in a room with a starving lion or an angry Haruka?

I'd go with the lion.

"Natsuki, how are things?" Yukino greeted me. Her desk was cluttered with towering stacks of papers and photographs.

"Not bad. I'd ask you the same, but Haruka already told me." I snagged an open letter from her designated 'Haters' pile and settled on her couch.

The petite writer rolled her eyes. "Haruka likes to exaggerate." The blonde scoffed from where she was leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm going to cut off your hands and tongue and make you eat them. Then I'm going to flay your skin and let my dogs start feeding on you while you watch," I read aloud from the letter before raising my eyebrows at her. "Fan of yours?"

"I think the author was hungry when he wrote that," Yukino said lightly. "All his threats involve feeding me to something or other."

I crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it into the trashcan. "Well, forget your murderous psychopaths and help me with my psychopathic murderers. I'm on a case."

Those four words never failed to pique her interest. "Oh? Anything I can do to help?"

"Heard of Yuuichi Tate?"

"Not much. Recently died of an accidental overdose."

"Correction: was made to _look_ like he accidentally overdosed." I leaned forward. "Two weeks ago, there was that big dinner sponsored by the city for Windbloom's CEOs. Do you remember if he was there?"

Yukino frowned in thought. "I think so. Haruka and I were kicked out by security soon after the doors closed, though; they didn't want the media hanging around."

"Someone put enough sleeping pills in his food to down an elephant."

"The plot thickens."

"And…" I drew out for suspense.

"And?" Yukino looked impatiently curious.

"Miya Clochette was pushed off a bridge, Nagi Dai Artai was shot in the head. Both declared suicides."

"Same killer?" Yukino's always been quick to put things together.

"Most likely."

"Is it a serial killer?" The journalist in her was itching to write up a sensational headline.

I hesitated. "Not sure. Serial killers usually like their exploits to be acknowledged, but someone went through the trouble of keeping the murders low-key. None of them were killed the same way, and the victims have almost nothing in common."

"You said 'almost nothing,'" Yukino astutely noted.

I made sure to keep my face neutral. "All of them were Shizuru's clients."

Yukino pursed her lips. "Do you think she—"

"I'm keeping an open mind," I interrupted. "She has no discernable motive."

"We all have skeletons in the closet," Yukino said quietly. Her eyes slid over to where Haruka was looking out the window, ever vigilant.

Haruka glanced at me. "Fujino has killer instinct. I'd be careful."

"I'm not saying Shizuru is incapable of killing. Everyone can kill if they just put their minds to it." I smirked humorlessly. "But this murder story isn't hers."

"So any leads?" Yukino asked.

"Shizuru is going as Anh Lu's date to her gallery opening tonight. It's an exclusive event and I need an in—got an extra press pass lying around?"

Yukino's eyes twinkled. "I'll give you one if you let us come."

I shrugged. The more, the merrier. "Alright, kiddies, pack your bags."

_-000-000-_

Anh Lu's gallery opening was apparently a big deal, if the number of fancy suits and cocktail dresses walking around were any indication. I honestly wouldn't know—art was never my strong suit—but Yukino kept nudging me in the ribs whenever I yawned.

"Stop looking so bored. You're drawing attention," Yukino hissed at me. Haruka was hovering around her while snapping photos in random directions, gamely playing the role of photographer. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she can dance and she can sing, but can she cook?

"No, Shutterbug McSnappy here is. I'm blending in." Haruka scowled at me for the name. I straightened up and scanned the room for Shizuru.

She was on the far side of the gallery, hanging onto Anh Lu's arm and charming the pants off the circle of people around her. She's always been good at that—both metaphorically and literally.

Shizuru whispered something into Anh's ear before leaving the circle and heading for the balcony. "Be right back," I muttered to Yukino, slipping away before she could stop me.

The night air was crisp, shadows promising a place of refuge from the light spilling out from the open doors, though most people chose to remain immersed in the whirl and buzz of the gallery. Shizuru was leaning on the balustrade and looking out into the night.

I crossed my arms and leaned my back on the railing next to her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Her gaze remained fixed on the stars. "You know I cost more than that."

I inclined my head. "True. You may even be single-handedly responsible for the current recession."

Shizuru wryly smiled and turned to face me. "Love has a steep price."

"I know."

Her eyes lit up in amusement at seeing the 'Press Correspondent' ID card clipped to my coat. "You're a journalist tonight? Cute."

"I got it from Yukino."

"I figured. That means Haruka is around somewhere."

"Playing Clark Kent to Yukino's Lois Lane, as usual."

Shizuru chuckled darkly. "I wouldn't call Haruka a superhero, though."

"No. The metaphor's not quite right." I shrugged. "Shouldn't you be inside mingling and pretending to be the perfect date?"

She rolled her eyes. "Anh likes to be constantly showered with praise. I can only recycle the same compliments so much before she notices."

I shook my head mockingly. "Those artist types are so damn needy."

I stiffened when she leaned forward. Her lips barely brushed up my jaw, lingering on my cheek before settling against my ear. "Like you don't feel _needy_ once in a while?"

I only had to turn my head and her lips would be against mine. But seduction was a dangerous game to play, especially against a professional.

Someone else made the decision for me. "Who's your friend, Viola?"

I turned away from Shizuru to look at the intruder. Anh Lu looked between Shizuru and me with raised eyebrows before gliding forward and pointedly wrapping her arm around Shizuru's waist.

Ah, I almost forgot. Shizuru Fujino is gone tonight; in her place stands Viola, the escort. I stepped back and tapped my ID. "I'm a journalist from the Windbloom Times."

"And here I thought reporters were short, cynical critics only pretending to have actual jobs," she said in that passive-aggressive way people get when they feel their territory is being threatened. In this case, Shizuru.

"Nope. I'm average height," I replied laconically.

"Well, thank you for keeping my date entertained. Work talk bores her."

"Oh, so all you must do is talk about work," I commented. Shizuru shot me a warning glance.

Anh narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't aware anyone from the Windbloom Times had been invited."

"Believe me, I wouldn't be here otherwise," I replied. Unless, of course, I was on a murder investigation.

"Perhaps you should leave, then," Anh snapped.

"Let's not get hasty, now." I held up my hands. "Don't you want your name in the paper?"

Anh scoffed. "I just came back from a critically-acclaimed tour in Europe. I think my gallery will do just fine without your publicity, thanks."

Well, at least that ruled her out as a suspect. "It's a shame you couldn't stay there permanently."

"Do you even know who I am?" Anh snarled.

"A woman who needs anger management?" I hazarded a guess.

"I'm a world-famous artist, and you're no one but a cocky little shit."

"Little?" I protested.

Her hand shot out to grip my arm. "Listen here—"

I grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, shoving her into the railing. She yelped in pain.

"Natsuki…" Shizuru warned.

"I don't appreciate being told what to do," I said coldly into Anh's ear. I jerked her arm back a little more. "Ever try painting with a broken arm?"

She whined in pain. "You're crazy! Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm no one, remember?"

"I hope we're not interrupting anything," a voice interjected. I looked over my shoulder to see Haruka regarding us with amusement.

Yukino frowned at me in disapproval. "People are staring."

It was true; I could see several guests gaping at us through the doors. I released Anh and stepped back. She stumbled away and glared at me. "I'm pressing charges, you psychopathic bitch!"

Shizuru wrapped her arms around Anh's waist from behind. "Don't. A police investigation is hardly the way to open your gallery."

"But she—"

"—will write a glowing review of your exhibition to make up for her transgressions, I'm sure." Like a snake charmer, Shizuru had Anh following her every whim.

I bit back my smirk and nodded solemnly. "I'm very sorry for kicking your ass, Ms. Lu."

Shizuru rolled her eyes at me. Anh scowled before stalking off. "Coming, Viola?"

"In a minute."

Anh nodded and glared at me one last time before disappearing inside. I tsked. "I have no idea what you see in her."

Shizuru scoffed. "I don't see anything except a fat paycheck, which you're getting in the way of. You don't see me interrupting you while you work."

"Actually, I'm the one working—you're the one interrupting."

"Yes, I'm sure assaulting Anh is hard work," Shizuru said sarcastically.

"She spoke to me in a rude fashion. What was I supposed to do?"

"You almost blew our cover," Yukino said in annoyance.

"Hello Yukino, Haruka. I assume Natsuki dragged you into her mess?" Shizuru asked.

"They wanted to come," I snapped.

"Well, now they have you to thank for wasting their night," Shizuru fired back. "Stay away from Anh—I might not be able to persuade her to ignore your stupidity next time."

"I'll do whatever I want, thanks."

Shizuru nodded at Yukino and Haruka before breezing past me without a word of acknowledgment.

"You have a nice night, too," I barked at her retreating back.

Yukino raised an eyebrow. "Have you two ever tried communicating below the level of a shout?"

Haruka chuckled. "Doubtful."

I ignored their comments. "It doesn't matter. I found what I needed to know."

"Which is?" Yukino queried.

"Shizuru can control her clients like puppets on a string."

"Yes. Interesting how everyone becomes instantly infatuated with her." Yukino tilted her head. "Does that bother you?"

"Why would it?" I said indifferently.

Yukino nodded. "Right. Shall we go inside and take advantage of free champagne?"

If anything, Yukino is a woman after my own heart. I followed her and Haruka inside, resolved to keep an eye on Shizuru and Anh for the rest of the night.

_-000-000-_

People eventually began to drift out as the night wound down, either going home or moving onto another party. I was getting antsy, but I didn't want to leave until Shizuru and Anh did.

Yukino nudged my shoulder. "The mayor's here. She must be trying to drum up votes before elections."

A teal-haired woman stood chatting with some people. Her face was pretty, in a Botox- and plastic surgery-induced way that's common in wealthy, middle-aged women.

"Marguerite's running for reelection? I didn't know that," I said absentmindedly.

Yukino scoffed. "They might as well cancel elections—we all know she's going to win. I have no idea how someone could be so blatantly corrupt and still get away with it. Just because her family owns half of Windbloom…"

My ears tuned out Yukino's rant as my eyes wandered over to Shizuru and Anh, who were preparing to leave. I was close enough to eavesdrop without being noticed.

"So are we going to continue this party elsewhere?" Anh said seductively, her fingers trailing up Shizuru's arm.

"Maybe," Shizuru replied coyly. I smirked. In Shizuru-language, 'maybe' usually meant a flat-out 'no.' That must've been common knowledge, since Anh pouted at her.

"Why not?"

Shizuru offered her a lazy smile in response and sauntered to the elevator. Anh grumbled something and followed.

I watched them as they got into the elevator, Shizuru playfully swatting Anh's hands away. Just as the elevator doors were closing, Shizuru's gaze connected with mine. She winked and smirked before disappearing out of sight.

I normally would've been annoyed at her gesture, but a sudden chill up my spine distracted me—someone was watching me.

I immediately turned around and searched the room. Whoever it was, they had stopped the moment I turned around.

I started when someone tapped my shoulder. Yukino and Haruka were regarding me impatiently.

"Let's go, Natsuki. I know a bar nearby, if you want to stop by for a couple seconds," Yukino said. "I'll buy the first round." Haruka was all ready to go, her hard liquor gauge running on low.

I brushed away my foreboding. Maybe it was the champagne talking. Maybe I'd feel better with more alcohol inside me. Maybe, maybe, maybe. "Lead the way, Yukino."

I could feel the same eyes burning into my back as we left.

* * *

><p>I woke up the next morning in an apartment that wasn't my own, my clothes scattered all over the floor. Water was running in the shower, but there was no time for pleasantries; I could only think about the watcher from last night.<p>

I left a note—it seemed rude to leave without saying anything—and was out the door in five minutes. I squinted against the harsh glare of the sun and walked in the direction of my apartment.

I frowned in thought as I entered my building and climbed the stairs to my floor. It could be possible that my body had been overreacting—what if someone had just been checking me out or something?

Possible, but highly fucking unlikely. That gaze hadn't been friendly at all.

I froze just as I was about to unlock my door. As a precaution, I always left a strand of hair tucked in the doorjamb before I left, a reliable indication of whether someone had entered my apartment while I was gone. That hair was missing.

I drew my revolver and turned the key as quietly as possibly. Once there was a little 'click,' I flung the door open, my gun at the ready.

I closed my eyes against the sight that greeted me. "Aw, fuck."

Anh Lu was staring at me with sightless eyes, hanging from the ceiling fan by the noose around her neck. Her toes skimmed the floor as the fan slowly rotated, spinning her body round and round.

Welcome home, Natsuki.

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><p><em>I asked my mom (who's a nurse) to describe the morgue at her hospital. Her face was like "WHAT is wrong with you child?" I swear, she has the best facial expressions…<em>

_Although, after this chapter, I'm inclined to agree with her… :|_

_Review, please!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Long chapter to make up for the delay. Been rather busy lately, but I do feel bad that I haven't updated my stories in a while (I'm working on them, promise!)_

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><p>I leaned against the wall, cigarette dangling between my fingers, watching the forensic photographer take photos of the crime scene. Anh had been cut down and laid on the floor, her eyes staring blankly upwards.<p>

"Is that really necessary?" I grumbled as he opened the door to my bedroom and started snapping away.

"Standard procedure," he shot back smugly. My fists itched to pound in his teeth.

"Stop smoking, you're messing up the crime scene," a voice said dryly behind me. "Didn't you quit?" I turned my head to see Mai standing next to me.

I shrugged. Old habits die hard, especially when there's a dead body in your apartment. Still, I flicked the cigarette into a nearby ashtray. Mai narrowed her eyes at the photographer. "Stop fucking around, Takeda, and do your job. The victim is out here, not in Ms. Kuga's bedroom."

"Just wanted to cover all bases," he said before winking at me. I glared back, resisting the urge to pull out my guns.

"Creep," Mai muttered.

"Normally I'd agree, but I'm significantly more disturbed by the dead woman on the floor," I deadpanned.

Mai immediately switched into cop mode. "Your neighbors said you weren't home last night."

"The fuck would they know? They don't even know my name," I grumbled.

"Where were you, Natsuki?" Mai asked levelly, her eyes cool as ice.

I glanced around at all the cops entering and leaving my apartment, my too-nosy-for-their-own-good neighbors blatantly ogling from their doorways, the forensic unit milling around. "I wasn't interested in her name, if you know what I mean," I said, throwing in a suggestive eyebrow wiggle for good measure.

Mai rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

One of the other cops came up to Mai and whispered in her ear. Mai scowled. "Keep them away, and make sure everyone here keeps their mouth_shut_. Understand?"

The woman nodded and moved away. I raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Someone called the press," Mai grumbled. I looked out the window to see a throng of reporters and cameramen hanging out outside my building.

"Ooh, paparazzi. Think my face will be in the paper?"

Mai didn't look amused. "It's going to be a feeding frenzy once the victim's name leaks."

I looked impassively at the body on the floor. Rigor mortis had set in, erasing the last remnants of the arrogant woman from last night. Anh Lu, painter extraordinaire, touted as the next Picasso and the toast of the modern art world. Anh Lu, dead before reaching her thirtieth birthday. "You have to declare this a homicide."

"Natsuki, there was no sign of a struggle, the rope that was used as a noose can be bought anywhere, and only your and her fingerprints are on the doorknob outside. It seems like a clear-cut suicide—"

"No! It can't be declared a suicide or accidental death or some other ridiculous explanation—it has to be a homicide."

"If you let me finish my sentence, I said it _seemed_ like a suicide, not that it was one," Mai grumbled. "Whoever you pissed off this time, he or she is very thorough. A real professional—no fingerprints, strands of hair, or flakes of skin left behind."

"Well, color me impressed," I said sarcastically. "Can you do it?"

Mai scoffed. "Please, I've been on the force nearly forever. If I haven't racked up some favors by now, my time would've been a complete waste." She narrowed her eyes at me. "I'll get you your homicide, but you have to let me do the investigation _my_ way. None of your private detective bullshit, alright?"

I hesitated. I wasn't crazy about letting Mai get too involved—it was _my_ case, after all—but it seemed like the best way to flush out the murderer. The killer would be thrown off his game when he (or she—personal experience taught me women could be just as brutally violent as men) found out that this time, the murder wouldn't be disguised as a suicide. "Fine."

"Okay." Mai sighed. "Getting the coroner on board is going to be a pain in the ass."

I took out a business card out my wallet and handed it to Mai. "You're not the only one with connections."

Mai took the card with a raised eyebrow. "Youko Helene? She any good?"

"We'll see, won't we?" I shrugged, gesturing to the card Youko had so surreptitiously slipped into my hand during our handshake. "She's a medical examiner at Windbloom General. More importantly, she doesn't take bribes."

Mai nodded and pocketed the card. She tapped a passing officer on the shoulder. "Akira, you're in charge. Forensics is almost done, so make sure no one fucks up the crime scene and gather statements from the witnesses."

The androgynous woman looked a little dour at Mai's request but nodded. If Mai asked her, she must be one of the more competent ones. I sympathized—being a cop in Windbloom was quite frankly a thankless job, even more so if you weren't corrupt.

"Where're you going?" I asked Mai. Akira might not want to question her superior officer, but I was never one to give a fuck about respecting authority.

"I'm bringing Fujino in for questioning."

"I'm coming with you."

Mai looked unsurprised. "Any idea where she would be?"

"Probably at Garderobe. Her shift starts soon."

"Let's go." Mai shouldered her way through the crowded hallway. I followed her outside, ignoring the questions shouted at us by reporters. Save for Yukino, I had no love lost for Windbloom's media; they were puppets of the politicians and big corporations of Windbloom. The newspapers were borderline propaganda; the television stations fared no better.

Mai unlocked the door of her standard-issued Windbloom police cruiser. I slid into the passenger seat and smiled wryly. "This is new."

"What, riding in a police car?" Mai clicked on her seatbelt.

"No, riding in the front. Your colleagues aren't too fond of me—they usually handcuff me and toss me in the backseat."

Mai rolled her eyes. "Would you prefer to sit in the back?"

"No, thanks. More room up front." I had barely clicked on my seatbelt before Mai suddenly floored it. I looked at her askance; her normally humorless expression was as unsmiling as ever, determination shadowed in the premature crease on her forehead. Without taking her eyes off the road, she flicked on a switch; sirens suddenly wailed at full volume. The notoriously heavy Windbloom traffic parted faster than a prostitute's legs before flashing red-and-blue lights.

I internally groaned. Mai hated abusing her cop privileges, so that left only one conclusion—Shizuru was her number one suspect. This I was not excited to see: Mai would hammer away relentlessly at Shizuru, trying to find a crack, and Shizuru would hammer right back. Then Shizuru would be relentless with her smartass, sharp-as-nails comments, and I'd have to possibly stop Mai from killing her out of sheer aggravation. Shizuru was rather good at eliciting passionate responses out of people.

As we pulled up outside Garderobe, I pointed a finger at her. "You stay here. I'll get her."

"Over my dead body," Mai snapped.

"Don't trust me?" I asked, half-joking, half-serious.

"Not with her, I don't."

"Fine. Give me five minutes alone with her before you storm in and cause a scene."

"You have two, and if she's gone when I come in, I _will_ arrest you."

It wasn't much time, but I wasn't going to waste more by arguing. "See you in two minutes." The flashing neon Garderobe sign burned into my eyes as I passed underneath it. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the subdued, smoky interior, the seductive ambience of the place wrapping around me like a haze. Spotting just the person I wanted to see, I called out her name. "Nao!"

The redhead turned from where she was entertaining a party of entranced businessmen. Ignoring their disappointed groans, she sauntered over to where I was standing. "Why, Natsuki, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where's Shizuru?"

She tsked. "And I almost thought you were here to see me." My expression must've conveyed the urgency of the situation, since she relented surprisingly quickly. "She's in Reito's office."

"Thanks. Listen, I need a favor."

She adopted an expression of faux-surprise. "What can little ol' me possibly do for the big, bad detective?"

I rolled my eyes at her theatrics. "A cop, Mai Tokiha, is going to come in looking for Shizuru. I need you to distract her until I come back."

"How long are we talking here?"

"As long as it takes. She won't tolerate any bullshit, though, so you'll have to play it hard and fast."

Nao smirked. "Don't I always?" She tossed me a wink before melting into the shadows, waiting to ambush her prey.

I chuckled at that. Nao showed no mercy; Mai wasn't going to know what hit her. Still, I didn't have much time. My feet carried me past the stage and to the main office. I rapped sharply on the door twice and opened it without waiting for an answer—I was never one for manners, even on a good day.

Reito looked up at me in surprise as I barged in, his mouth dropping slightly open. Shizuru, perched on the corner of his desk, reacted with more composure; her eyes didn't even bother looking up from the paperweight she was toying with, though a telltale smirk played on her lips.

"Kuga!" He blurted out. "What are you doing here?"

I ignored him, my eyes seeking out blazing crimson. "Shizuru."

"Hmm?" She finally lifted her eyes to meet mine. Her teasing smile wavered when she saw my expression.

"Anh Lu's dead," I said bluntly. She froze, the briefest glimmer of fear flashing across her face before her expression smoothed back into its normal insouciance.

Reito looked stunned. "Anh's dead? How?"

That caught my attention. "You knew her?"

"We went to school together. She even asked me to come to her show last night! I couldn't go…" He trailed off regretfully. "How did it happen?"

"I found her hanging in my apartment. A little present from the killer," I said tersely.

Reito slumped back into his chair. "You didn't catch him yet? What am I paying you for, then?"

"If you think you can do better, be my guest," I snarled.

Reito rubbed his face wearily. "Do I have to close Garderobe until you solve the murders? Word is eventually going to get out, Kuga."

" Your clientele _do_ seem to have a nasty habit of turning up dead," Shizuru agreed.

"Only _your _clientele, actually," I brusquely corrected her. "And Kanzaki, close this place and you'll run the risk of the killer getting suspicious and disappearing. I don't want to take that chance."

He frowned. "Do you have any leads?"

"I got Anh's murder to officially be declared a homicide." I looked at Shizuru. "The police want to talk to you."

"Why? I know for a fact she was with Anh only during the gala! That was our agreement!" Reito burst out angrily.

"Were you there?"

He blanched. "No, I wasn't—"

"Then stay out of it, Kanzaki. It'll be better for everyone if you do," I warned.

"But—"

"I'll be fine. All I have to do is tell them what little I know. It won't take long," Shizuru said carelessly, the picture of indifference.

Reito exhaled. He stuck a cigarette between his lips and rummaged in his pocket for a lighter. "I don't like this." He made a sound of surprise when Shizuru snatched the cigarette from his mouth.

"Smoking's bad for you," she said teasingly. He stared at her nonplussed, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I rolled my eyes; I recognized that besotted look on his face. It was the one most people got when hanging around Shizuru for too long.

"Kiss smoking goodbye, because she won't leave you alone until you quit," I informed him sardonically. I would know.

He seemed to realize the same thing, if the jealous frown on his face as he looked between her and me was any indication. I could almost feel the bad juju he was sending my way, though it was more amusing than threatening—like a child with a BB gun. Shizuru distracted him by standing up and stretching, purposely pushing out her chest in the process. It was a trick that never failed, and Reito's eyes darted away guiltily when she smirked at him. "See you later, Reito," she purred.

"Let's go." I took her hand and impatiently pulled her out the door. It wasn't my job to be a witness to verbal foreplay, and I had no intention of sticking around a second longer.

I could feel her eyes studying me as I tugged her along. "You seem tense," she observed quietly.

I stopped in my tracks and whirled around to face her. "Four murders in two weeks, Shizuru, and I found a body in my apartment as a blatant challenge—forgive me if I seem a little tense!"

She extracted her hand from mine and crossed her arms, carmine eyes flashing a warning. "Maybe this time you've bitten off more than you can chew."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said angrily.

"You may think you're invincible, but what if your guns run out of bullets? What happens when you're caught off guard? Quit now, Natsuki, while you still can."

"You know I can't."

Shizuru sighed wearily. "Haven't you ever wished you could leave everything behind? Just get into your car and drive until you run out of gas?"

Maybe it was because of the way she stood, looking so damn wistful underneath the soft blue lights backstage, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. "All the time."

"So what stops us?" For a brief moment, she looked unusually vulnerable.

"I suppose the possibility, no matter how small, of things turning out for the better." To be honest, though, I wasn't sure if I believed that myself; I would've left Windbloom behind a long time ago if I had something to leave it for.

Another dancer walked by us, momentarily derailing the conversation. In those five seconds, Shizuru's walls immediately shoot back up. "So are you going to take me down to the station? Handcuff me and punish me for being a bad girl?" She purred into my ear, wine-red eyes sparking with unfettered mischief.

"No, Mai is."

She raised an eyebrow. "Your cop friend? I'm surprised she didn't come get me herself—she usually doesn't have lackeys do her dirty work."

"First of all, I am _not_ her lackey," I growled out. "Secondly, I got someone to distract her."

"So you could spend some time alone with me? How very forward of you, Ms. Kuga."

I ignored her barely suppressed smirk. "Don't piss her off. You're already high enough on her shit list as it is."

We passed the row of black doors designating private rooms, a different symbol inscribed on each door. I stopped before one and knocked. Shizuru looked at the red spider emblazoned on the door with a growing smile. "You didn't."

"I did," I affirmed. I knocked again and called out, "We're done here, Nao. If you'll release Mai, that'd be appreciated."

The door swung open to reveal a very smug Nao, barely clothed except for a standard-issue Windbloom PD uniform cap perched jauntily on her head. "You have the worst timing, Kuga, did you know that?"

I chuckled when she opened the door wider to let a dazed-looking Mai stumble out. "Good-bye, Officer. Give me a call when you're feeling lonely on those slow patrol nights," Nao called out suggestively, Mai's cap still tilted over her sharp lime-green eyes.

I gave her an impressed nod before taking Mai by the elbow and leading her through the club. I'd been worried Nao wouldn't be able to distract Mai for long, but from the looks of it, she had been on top of things—in all ways.

Mai seemed to regain her bearings outside, the cool night air cutting through whatever spell Nao put her under. She spun around and jabbed a finger in my chest. "You did that on purpose!" she seethed.

"Easy, Casanova," I protested. "It's not my fault ladies love the uniform. I've got no control over what Nao does."

"Or who she does," Shizuru added cheekily. She wiggled her fingers 'hello' when Mai glared at her. "Your buttons are mismatched, Officer."

Mai turned red. "Just get in the car," she barked, turning away to fumble with her shirt.

I opened the backseat door for Shizuru, rolling my eyes when she slid into the car with poise more suitable for entering a limousine than the backseat of a police cruiser. Mai got into the driver's seat, raising an eyebrow when she saw me sitting next to Shizuru. "I thought you hated the backseat," she said.

"I never said that," I denied, pointedly ignoring the amused grin Shizuru was sending me.

Mai shrugged and merged into traffic. Silence reigned in the car until Mai suddenly asked, "Where's my hat?"

Shizuru and I exchanged amused looks.

* * *

><p>I lounged around at Mai's desk, ignoring the hostile looks being sent my way by seemingly every blue-clad Windbloom cop in the station. When I said Mai's colleagues weren't too fond of me, I wasn't kidding.<p>

I scowled when a cop deliberately bumped into my shoulder as he walked past. How he did that while I was seated, I had no idea, but he was the third person of the evening to do so. Jeez, send one of their compatriots to jail, and they all swear a blood vendetta against you. So melodramatic.

Before I could rehash the details of that particular case, Mai suddenly appeared, pulling up a chair to sit next to me. She glared at the cops looking in our direction and opened her mouth to make a scathing remark, but loud shouting on the other side of the room grabbed everyone's attention.

A dark-haired man was writhing in the arms of two cops, trying to lunge at a taller man dressed impeccably in a suit that screamed 'lawyer.' The expletives and threats leaving the guy's mouth were creative enough to impress even me; I'd thought I had heard every single possible combination of profanity under the sun, but his put my admittedly extensive vocabulary of obscenities to shame. The taller man said something to the two cops before strolling toward the exit, exuding a confidence that belied his otherwise average looks.

"Who're they?" I muttered to Mai.

"The guy yelling is some big-shot Windbloom Mafioso. The other guy is Kazuya Kurauchi."

The name sounded familiar. "The new District Attorney?" I asked.

Mai nodded. "Apparently he wasn't supposed to win the election, but the incumbent DA had a heart attack. The higher-ups despise his guts."

"Why's that?"

"Kurauchi's serious about his job. He's made it his goal to crack down on corruption, and he's coming down especially hard on the gangs."

"We could use an honest DA for once."

"Yeah, but now there's a huge target painted on his back. He'll be dead before the year's out," Mai predicted darkly.

Sad, but true. Good men don't survive for long in Windbloom. I shrugged it off and turned the conversation to a more relevant topic. "Alright, so what did Shizuru say?"

She leaned in. "Fujino said she declined Anh Lu's invitation to stay over and went home last night. I don't believe her."

"Why not?"

"Everyone saw her leave _with_ Lu, but no one saw her leave Lu, you know? Plus, it's kind of her job to stay with a client all night."

"She's not a regular prostitute. Garderobe's policy says she doesn't have to sleep with anyone she doesn't want to," I pointed out.

"Even if that's true, she doesn't have a substantial alibi with credible witnesses—but my instincts are telling me she's lying about something. We're going to be watching her until a better suspect comes along, if that even happens."

I straightened up. "Round-the-clock surveillance?"

"Yep."

"Okay."

Mai scrutinized me. "You know something."

I shrugged.

"Fucker."

I grinned at her and stood up to leave.

"Ms. Kuga?" A young cop stopped me; she looked like she just barely graduated from the academy. I vaguely recognized her as Mikoto Minagi, one of Mai's protégés.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to have to ask you some questions about Anh Lu's murder. If you'll come with me…" It wasn't a question; her grip on my arm wasn't painful, but it was unyielding. I glanced back at Mai, who stared back unflinchingly.

"You were seen last night in a physical altercation with the victim, Natsuki. What did you expect?" She shrugged, almost mockingly. "It's nothing personal."

Damn it, Mai. I nodded at Mikoto. "Lead the way."

_-000-000-_

It was late when I returned to my apartment. I had made sure the interrogation was fruitless on the Windbloom PD's part, giving only vague answers and rewording the questions. Once I was allowed to leave, I'd asked about Shizuru's whereabouts only to learn she'd gone back to work with the warning to stay in Windbloom for the next few weeks. Whatever she told the cops made her look as incriminating as ever.

I sat down heavily at my desk and stared at where Anh's body had been this morning. Someone had cleaned up while I was gone, though my things had obviously been examined as evidence and moved around. My ceiling fan had been disassembled, Anh's body removed, but her pale face stared accusingly at me whenever I closed my eyes. I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight here—maybe I should've crashed at Yukino and Haruka's place.

I retreated into my mind, where I stored most of my notes. Keeping hard copies of any info I gathered during an investigation made it too damn easy to fall into the wrong hands. So: Tate had overdosed on sleeping pills. That was a simple enough murder to commit; just slip enough into the food for a fatal overdose. Then came Clochette, pushed off a bridge. Certainly more violent; the murderer was getting more comfortable with the idea of killing. Still, it was rather easy—catch the victim off guard, and gravity will do the rest…but then came Dai Artai, with a bullet through the head. Gory, messy work; the way the body had been handled, transported, and casually dumped suggested a growing confidence. Not quite the work of a serial killer, though; they liked to be exposed, and this murderer had been somewhat careful to not attract attention—until now, that is.

Then there was Lu. No marks around her neck except from the rope. Either the killer was a cowboy with impressive far-range lassoing skills, or the person was close enough to Lu that she would've felt comfortable turning her back to the murderer.

Fact #1: The murderer was wealthy enough to pay off hefty bribes to the necessary people.

Fact #2: He or she ran in the same social circles as the victims, close enough to not arouse the victim's suspicion.

Fact #3: The murderer was getting progressively more comfortable with killing.

Fact #4: …

"Very good, Kuga," I muttered sarcastically to myself. My eyes burned from lack of sleep. What I needed was more time, a nap, or a pot of strong coffee. Since the first two were a no-go, the coffee would have to do.

I closed the door behind me, leaving a strand of hair caught between the doorjambs. Call me paranoid, but no way in hell was I going to come back to my apartment without some prior warning of what could be waiting inside. Elevator was still broken, so down the stairs I went, trying not to breathe in the stench of urine.

The crescent moon was low in the sky, pale and sickly. I reached my car and fumbled with the keys; looking up, I saw movement behind me through the reflection of the window.

"Fuck—" There was a flash of silver and I instinctively threw my arm up. Sharp, sudden pain in my forearm caused me to involuntarily gasp in pain and momentarily lose focus, which I immediately regretted when someone used the opportunity to grip me from behind to clamp a hand over of my mouth. I pressed my feet against my car and kicked out, attempting to knock my assailant over backwards, but he only staggered back several steps, the grip on my face tightening. The blade was yanked out of my arm and slashed toward me again. My wounded arm shot out to grip my attacker's wrist, straining to keep the blade from puncturing my throat. The point of the blade scratched my skin, and I slammed my head backwards, hoping to break the fucker's nose. There was a grunt of pain and the grip around me loosened, but I didn't have enough leverage to break free.

I could hear shouting in the distance, but it seemed muffled, like I was underwater. It was evidently closer than I thought, since the attacker hesitated for a fraction of a second, his hand loosening over my mouth. I immediately lunged forward and bit him—hard. I felt more than heard the nasty _crunch, _followed by a hoarse scream of pain. The taste of latex covered my tongue before blood flooded into my mouth. I wrenched away and smacked the blade out of my assailant's hand, but before I could turn around, he grabbed my head and smashed it against my car. Stars exploded before my eyes; I fought the darkness clouding my vision as the attacker unceremoniously dropped me and sprinted away, footsteps echoing on pavement. A second set of footsteps flew past, chasing after the first. Through the pounding in my ears, I could hear the screeching of tires and the unmistakable growl of a sports car engine echo through the streets.

Someone kneeled next to me and helped me sit up. "Natsuki! Are you okay?"

What a stupid question. "I'm just fucking peachy, and you?"

"Don't be a smartass."

My vision cleared to focus on a familiar pair of glasses. "Yukino?"

Yukino was worriedly running her hands over my body, looking for a fatal wound. "You're bleeding a fuck-ton and I have no idea where it's coming from."

I wearily raised my injured arm. "Oh, this? It's only a flesh wound." I looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps to see a panting Haruka coming toward us.

"Did you see who it was?" Yukino asked her.

Haruka shook her head. "The bastard got away."

"Maybe you should cut down on the junk food and go running more often," I slurred. I was feeling light-headed, never a good sign.

Haruka scowled. "There was a car. Maybe you should pay more attention to your surroundings next time instead of letting yourself get jumped like an amateur." She frowned at my blood-soaked shirt. "Jesus, you're bleeding a small ocean. It looks like you got hacked by a machete."

The gash in my arm throbbed in time with my pulse, fresh blood leaking out with each heartbeat. Yukino inspected the short but deep cut. "You'll need stitches for that. Do you want to go to the hospital?"

Haruka snorted. "Please. All we need is a needle, thread, and vodka."

I was still mulling over how Haruka knew what someone who was hacked by a machete looked like when a something shiny caught my eye. I stumbled to my feet, swatting away Yukino's helping hands, and picked up the bloody scalpel with my sleeve. The blade itself was only about two inches long, but sharp as hell; if my would-be assassin had managed to slice my jugular like he intended, I'd be sprawled out on the cement right now, bleeding into the gutter.

Yukino and Haruka looked on with interest. "What's that?" Haruka queried impatiently.

I held up the scalpel. It was stained red to the hilt; my blood dripped onto the pavement, painting the concrete with dark concentric dots. "Another piece of the puzzle."

* * *

><p><em>Happy Thanksgiving! I'm honestly more excited for the pecan pie than the turkey, yum :)<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for your reviews and patience! Without further ado, the next chapter._

* * *

><p>I drummed my fingers against the plastic armrests of the hard vinyl chair. You'd think they'd make the chairs in the emergency waiting room more comfortable since the patient was already in enough pain to be there, but in Windbloom, even the chairs are hard-hearted.<p>

My eyes flicked to the entrance every time the automatic doors opened. Windbloom General was the city's largest public hospital, and consequently the busiest. Most walk-ins have to wait for their turn. Only the ones who staggered in literally holding their guts in their hands were immediately treated, mostly so they wouldn't get blood on the floor. Lucky bastards.

The doors opened again, a young guy stumbling in holding a helmet and bleeding from his forehead. "Motorcycle crash," Yukino observed from next to me. "Bloodshot eyes, vacant expression—he must be high out of his mind."

"Concussion and possible internal bleeding," Haruka added from Yukino's other side. "I give him an hour before he passes out."

I kept my mouth shut. I despised hospitals—the only reason I was here was because Yukino insisted I get the stab wound in my arm checked out, and you don't say no to Yukino when Haruka's around.

The doors slid open again, a confident, good-looking man ushering in a pale girl cradling her arm. It looked pretty bad, and not just the injury.

"Diagnosis?" Yukino asked, continuing their little game of "Guess the Injury."

"Broken arm," Haruka decided. "Someone grabbed and twisted it hard—probably the asshole who's with her. I call child abuse."

"I concur." Yukino turned to look at me. "Are you still bleeding?"

I lifted the towel from the laceration. Blood trickled down my arm—slow and steady wouldn't win this race, I'd just end up dead. I replaced the towel. "Yep."

"Kuga?" The nurse called out.

Fucking finally. I stood up, regretting the sudden movement when the earth decided to shift beneath my feet. Yukino followed me as the nurse directed me toward a hospital bed. Before the curtain was shut, I glimpsed Haruka walking up to the domestic violence pair and tapping the man on the shoulder.

Yukino smiled softly. "Haruka has a soft spot for kids."

Oh, yeah, Haruka was a regular cuddle buddy. Just a giant teddy bear—with brass knuckles.

The doctor, a harried-looking man, drew back the curtain and closed it behind him. "Alright, what seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Cut on her arm," Yukino corrected me.

He took away the towel and whistled. "Someone try to kill you?"

Of course they did, it's Windbloom City. "No, I fell."

He looked at me skeptically. "Onto what, a sword?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You get a lot of patients with sword wounds?"

"You'd be surprised." He narrowed his eyes contemplatively at my injury.

I impatiently held out my arm. "You wanna fix me up so I can go home, or you wanna stare some more?"

Yukino stifled a laugh. "I'll go wait outside with Haruka." She slipped out, leaving me alone with the doctor.

He injected my arm with local anesthetic before beginning to stitch the wound shut. "You're very lucky you didn't sever an artery or any nerves."

I gave him a careless shrug. But then I would've received treatment faster. Priorities, man.

"It looks like a clean cut, at least—little chance of blood poisoning. Your arm will be stiff for a few days, though." After cutting off the excess thread from the stitches, the doctor squinted suspiciously at me. "You sure you got this from a fall?"

"Is this a check-up or an inquisition?" I drawled.

"I have to report you if this was a suicide attempt."

Ha. I've had too many close calls with death to willingly kick the bucket anytime soon. "No chance in hell, old man."

He frowned and took out a small prescription pad, scribbling something on it before putting it back in his pocket. "Stay here. I'll give you a prescription for pain medication, but you're going to have to fill in some paperwork for a psychiatric evaluation first."

I scowled, advice on just where he could shove his psychiatric evaluation teetering on the tip of my tongue, when an epiphany struck. I suddenly flung myself into his arms. "Thank you so much, Doctor!"

I internally smirked at the alarmed expression on his face. He awkwardly patted my back. "Uh, not a problem." He quickly stepped back and walked away.

I smugly watched his retreating back, the prescription pad I had pickpocketed in hand. "No, really, thank you." I looked down at the paper and scowled at the generic painkiller he had prescribed me. That wouldn't do.

Taking out a pen, I made a few improvements. One order of Vicodin, coming right up. Now to find the hospital pharmacy…

I slipped out of the emergency ward with relative ease, all the doctors and nurses too busy to ask me where the hell was I going. A quick scan of the hospital floor plan told me my destination was several floors up, where my dirty, bloody clothes would stand out like a prostitute in a convent. That was easy enough to fix. I snuck into an on-call room and grabbed a white coat hanging on the chair, its owner blissfully unaware as he snored away on the bed in the corner. You snooze, you lose, buddy.

The stitches on my arm scraped uncomfortably against rough fabric as I donned the lab coat, but I shrugged off the twinge of pain and entered the elevator, easily blending in with the numerous whitecoats walking around.

The doors slid open to reveal the floor of the pharmacy, a veritable beehive of activity. Dodging a hospital bed being rolled by, I walked up to pharmacy window and handed one of the pharmacists the prescription slip. She read it and raised an eyebrow at me. "Just one bottle of Vicodin?"

I shrugged, tapping the signature of Dr. What's-his-face on the bottom. "Doctor's orders. I'm just the messenger."

She shrugged and disappeared to the back before returning with a small plastic container. I took it from her with a smile. "Thanks." That had been ridiculously easy. Almost worrisomely so, if I were so inclined to think.

Popping the cap off the bottle as I walked to the elevator, I swallowed several dry. I'd just replaced the top when someone bumped into me, sending the bottle flying out of my hand.

"Hey!" I snapped just as the other person uttered a distracted "Excuse me—"

I looked up at the familiar voice and sighed. Fuck. Busted. I wondered if I looked as ridiculous when surprised as Youko did. "Hi, Doc."

"You!" She growled out.

"Me," I agreed.

"What are you doing here?" She bend down to pick up the bottle and read the label. "And where did you get this?"

I swiped it out of her grasp and dropped it into my pocket. "The pharmacy."

Her jaw twitched in annoyance. "Of course you did."

"What does that mean?" I fell into step beside her.

Youko scowled. "Our pharmacy is notorious for distributing medication without the proper paperwork. It's convenient because Windbloom General is so busy, but it makes it damn near impossible to regulate where the medication goes."

"You don't say," I mused.

She rounded on me. "But I doubt you came here just to swipe a few pills. Here to look at more cadavers?"

"Maybe the only body I'm interested in is yours." I let my eyes travel up and down her body, smirking when she glared at me.

"I'm calling bullshit on that one. You seem more like a fighter, not a lover."

"Can't I be both?"

Youko snorted. "That'll be the day."

I placed a hand over my heart. "You wound me, Doc."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I didn't, but someone else did." She suddenly grabbed my right arm and pushed up the sleeve. The black suturing thread stood in stark contrast against my skin.

"Hey, hey. Take it easy on the goods," I protested. Youko ignored me, examining the wound with critical eyes.

"From the angle of the cut, I'd say someone tried to stab you and you blocked it with your arm. Short, but deep—was it a screwdriver?" She raised an eyebrow.

Not bad. "Scalpel, actually." I took my arm back and lowered the sleeve. "Did Mai give you a call?"

"The cop? She did. I'm assuming you gave her my name?" She lowered her voice as we walked into the elevator, settling in the back to have at least a modicum of privacy.

"To assume is to make an ass out of you and me, Doc." I paused. "But yeah. Figured the Windbloom PD could use an honest medical examiner, for once. So what did you think?"

"Of the cop? Very perceptive. She could stand to smile more often, though."

I chuckled. "That's true, but I was asking about the body."

"Now _that_ was a tricky one. I almost would've said suicide by hanging, except the bruising on the victim's neck were in the wrong place." At my curious expression, she elaborated. "To put it in laymen's terms—when someone is hanged, their body weight pulls down on the rope. Any mark would be left on the top half of the neck, almost underneath the jaw, in a V-shape. Yet the victim's larynx was crushed more horizontally toward the middle of the neck, which suggests manual strangulation."

"Would that have been obvious to anyone?"

Youko shook her head. "No, not unless you were specifically looking for signs of foul play." She checked her watch. "I've signed the statement declaring it a homicide. I was going to drop it off at the station just now when I bumped into you."

"And murder, she wrote," I muttered. The elevator doors slid open with a ding. As we walked out, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a plastic Ziploc containing the scalpel I'd picked up and handed it to her. "Do me a favor—make sure Mai gets that."

Youko gingerly took the bag and looked at it, dried blood now flaking off the blade. "A standard surgical scalpel, blade #18. Used for deep cuts. Whoever gave you that wound chose one of the bigger scalpel sizes for you."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm honored."

She pocketed the bag and gave me a nod. "Good luck. I've become rather invested in this case—it'd be a shame to see you dead at the end of it."

"It's not my ideal ending, either."

"Take it easy with the pills," she warned. "And for the last time, take off that damn coat. You give doctors a bad name."

I mock-saluted her before turning on my heel, shedding the coat as I walked and flinging it in some startled intern's face. Not the most polite thing I could have ever done, but I always thought a little rudeness built character. I just happened to have a lot of character.

As I walked to the entrance, a sudden thought stopped me in my tracks. I had found Anh's body in my apartment yesterday morning, left by the murderer as a warning. Less than twenty-four hours later, an attempt on my life. That was hardly enough time for the killer to be absolutely sure I wasn't backing off…unless they'd been watching me.

I stepped outside and adjusted my coat, bracing myself for the chill of approaching winter.

Well.

Things just got a little more interesting.

_-000-000-_

By the time I reached my apartment, the Vicodin was kicking in. Haruka gamely opened the door with her guns drawn—I myself could barely hold one pistol, let alone dual-wield. Still, my head was teeming with ideas, combating the encroaching haze of the pills.

"Those drugs'll knock you out in two seconds," Yukino predicted. "You want us to stick around and keep watch while you sleep?" I was pretty sure she was gonna stay anyway and was only asking to be polite, since Haruka was already raiding my fridge.

"If you want," I shot over my shoulder, bypassing my bedroom and heading into my office before shutting the door. My head was swimming—from exhaustion and too many pills—but there was no time for sleep. Pulling up my sleeve, I scrutinized my sutured wound. The puckered skin was definitely going to scar. Scalpel #18, Youko had said. Used for deep cuts. That made sense, considering the murderer had been aiming to slit my throat.

Knowing I was being watched was just icing on the cake. I'd suspected I was being monitored for some time now—the hole in my arm now proved it. I didn't know if the killer knew about Yukino and Haruka, but they were relatively safe—Haruka was harder to take down than an elephant. I wish I could say the same for myself, but I was at a slight disadvantage with my fucked-up arm, and the smallest impediment could and would give my opponent the edge over me.

Still, once the shock and initial twang of fear wore off, all that was left was aggressive anticipation. I had unwillingly, but perhaps inevitably, entered a cat-and-mouse game, the stakes being life or death. The murderer, though, ultimately had one great advantage: anonymity. If I had to guess what they were like, I would say they had heart-stopping good looks and killer charm, someone who wielded some influence and yet blended in with the crowd. In other words, someone with the perfect cover. I was being whisked around at a masquerade, confronted with too many masks to uncover in time, while the killer watched and laughed.

I lay my head on my desk and wondered, not for the first time, if I would be able to beat him to his next victim. Too busy mulling over my next move, I didn't even remember succumbing to sleep.

_I opened my eyes and looked around, frowning when I found myself standing in front of my apartment door. It was slightly ajar, and I could hear someone's calm, slow drawl and a child's high-pitched voice inside. I hesitated before pushing the door open. _

_I stopped at the sight greeting me. Yamada, my old mentor, was sitting at my desk—the desk that had actually been his first, as was the apartment. A younger version of myself, around five years old, lay on the floor and fiddled with something I couldn't see. Weird. I hadn't met Yamada until I was a teenager. _

_Yamada peered at me over the stupid round glasses he used to wear. "Shut the door. You're letting the cold in." _

_I shut the door with my foot, refusing to take my gaze off him. "You're dead." _

"_Am I? I didn't notice," He said dryly. _

_I shrugged. "I think so. You disappeared years ago and I couldn't find you." Silence. "You left me everything in your will," I added, hoping to jog his memory._

"_So I did," he mused. _

"_Yeah. It surprised the hell out of me. You always seemed to barely tolerate me." I couldn't help rambling. I felt sixteen years old again, begging Yamada to teach me everything about being a PI._

_He shrugged noncommittally. "A little deception goes a long way."_

"_Does that mean you're still alive?" _

_He made a face. "Probably not. And you won't be either, if you insist on making novice mistakes."_

"_What does that mean?" I asked in frustration. _

"_You've lost the advantage. They found out who you are," he chastised. "This should've ended weeks ago." _

_Younger Natsuki finally looked up at me. "You're an idiot," she snapped. _

_I scowled at her. Brat. That was definitely me. "I don't know what to do," I confessed. _

"_How do you catch the mouse?" Yamada asked. He gave me the bored, patronizing look that he had always directed at me. I hated that look. _

_I stared back blankly. Younger Natsuki sighed impatiently and held something out. There was a pang of nostalgia as I recognized it as the photograph I found in Shizuru's desk. I reached for the photo, but involuntarily jerked my hand back with a cry of pain when cold metal clamped down on my fingers. _

_Instead of grasping the photograph, my fingers were caught in a mousetrap. Younger Natsuki watched me smugly as I stared at my trapped hand. "To catch the mouse, you have to bait the trap. Moron."_

The smirk on Younger Natsuki's face faded from mind's eye as I slowly floated up from darkness into consciousness, aware of cool fingers caressing my face. Dexterous fingers danced down the length of my jawline as I willed my breathing to remain steady.

"Natsuki talks in her sleep," someone said quietly. Though my eyes remained closed, I had already known who it was the moment I felt her hand on my cheek, her voice only a confirmation of the fact.

"Oh?" I refused to open my eyes.

A hum of agreement. "Sounded interesting. All moans of '_harder'_ and '_faster'_—"

"What?" I opened my eyes and lifted my head to glare at Shizuru.

She only laughed at my expression. "My mistake. That had been _my_ dream." She seated herself on the desk, making a point to slowly cross her legs. My eyes were immediately drawn to the motion, wandering up to take in the expanse of long legs and smooth skin revealed through the daring slit of her gown. A soft cough diverted my attention to wine red eyes gleaming down victoriously at me. "See something you like?" She said teasingly.

"You look nice," I muttered grudgingly.

"I aim to please."

"Please who?"

She smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I rolled my eyes and sat up to stretch. "Sleeping in your chair is bad for your back," Shizuru sing-songed as my back audibly cracked.

"I'll live," I muttered.

"You have a perfectly fine bed," she pointed out.

"I know. I've used it many times."

"For sleep?"

"That, too." I smiled devilishly at her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Cocky, aren't we?"

"Nope. All woman. You would know."

"Hmm. I should make sure…" She arched an eyebrow challengingly.

Challenge accepted. "Is that a promise?" I asked lowly, shifting closer to her to run a hand up her leg.

Her smirk grew wider as she turned toward me, her legs parting the slightest bit, when the door opened. We both looked up to see the intruder was Yukino. "Trouble, Yukino?" Shizuru asked languidly when the reporter eyed us both suspiciously.

Yukino's eyes snapped from me to Shizuru, and she shrugged. "Your driver's getting antsy, Shizuru. He wants to know if you're coming anytime soon."

"Give me a few minutes and she will be," I assured Yukino. Shizuru shot me a dirty look while Yukino's eyebrows nearly flew off her face.

"Natsuki," Shizuru growled out warningly.

"Shizuru," I mocked back.

Shizuru rolled her eyes and turned to Yukino. "Tell him I'll be right out." Yukino nodded and left to relay the message, closing the door behind her.

"So, where were we?" I asked innocently, ignoring Shizuru's heated glare.

"_I_ was just about to leave. It's my last job tonight—the most important one, too." She slid off the desk and headed for the door.

I scrambled out of my chair and blocked her way. "Last job? Why?" I demanded. This was the first time I'd heard of it.

She tried to sidestep around me, scowling when I still remained in her way. "Things are getting too heated for me around here. I'm leaving until everything settles down."

"Isn't that exactly what the Windbloom PD said _not_ to do?" I pressed. "And what did Kanzaki say?"

"It's only temporary. I wasn't even going to take this job, but Reito coerced me into it." This time, she managed to maneuver around me, but sighed in impatience when my hand slammed the door shut just as she was opening it. "Isn't it a good thing I'm disappearing for a while? Then there'll be no dead clients to deal with."

"You don't know that," I argued. "Trust me, Shizuru, if you're gone, things'll only get harder for me and more dangerous for you. I know what I'm doing."

I barely flinched when she took my arm and gently rolled up the sleeve. "Do you really?" She asked dubiously, eyes trained on the angry black stitches.

I met her eyes confidently. "I do."

She dropped my arm and sighed. "I'm gone after tonight. You should think about getting out of here, too, while you can."

"I can't."

Shizuru nodded and leaned in to place a lingering kiss on my cheek. "I'll see you around, Sherlock." The implied _maybe _hung uncertainly in the air between us, daring someone to voice it aloud. Neither of us did. She reached for the doorknob, and I let her go this time, watching as she said something cheerfully to Yukino and Haruka before leading a dour-faced man in a chauffeur's uniform out the door.

Once she was gone, Yukino turned to me. "What were you two talking about?"

I glanced at her. "The noose is tightening."

"Around the murderer's neck, or yours?"

I chuckled humorlessly. "That remains to be seen."

"So you and Shizuru…?" She continued curiously.

I shook my head wordlessly. Nothing. There is no me and Shizuru. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Yukino nodded slowly. "Okay. Well, Mayor Marguerite is hosting a fundraising gala for her reelection campaign tonight, and I'm going to investigate it. Will you be okay by yourself?"

I rolled my eyes. From the way she was clucking over me, you'd think this was the first time I was stabbed. "I'll be fine. Go knock yourself out."

When they left, Yukino holding onto her journalist's notebook like it was her Bible and Haruka less enthusiastically with the camera, I decided to take a shower. Sometimes the best thing for an investigation was refreshing your mindset. For me, that involved literally scrubbing away the blood and dirt accumulated from the last couple of days.

A strange knot of dread was pitting in my stomach, however, even as I lathered shampoo into my hair. The doors were all locked with deadbolts drawn and my guns were lying on the counter. Yet, it wasn't that I felt danger in my apartment; it was more that my gut instinct was telling me there was trouble brewing on the horizon. I was in the calm before the storm, and listening to my instincts had saved me more than once.

As I was getting dressed, the phone rang. My stomach dropped. Here it was. I cleared my throat, inexplicably nervous, before picking up. "Hello?"

"Natsuki!" Yukino's voice was frantic.

"What?"

"I'm outside the mayor's mansion and just saw Shizuru and her date go inside! Do you know who her client is tonight?"

"No." Spit it out, woman!

"Kazuya Kurauchi!"

"The district attorney?" My hand on the phone tightened.

"Yes! Natsuki, you have to get Shizuru away from him! You know the murderer will target him next because of her, and he absolutely _cannot_ be killed. That man is going to turn this city on its head, but he can't do that if he's dead!"

"So go in and stop them!" I growled, looking around for my guns. I paused in my frantic search when my dream suddenly floated to the forefront of my mind.

_Bait. To catch the mouse, you need to bait the trap._

"I can't! They're not allowing in any reporters besides the ones who were personally invited by Marguerite, and security's too tight to sneak in!" Yukino exclaimed, unknowingly interrupting my thoughts.

"If you can't get in, how do you expect me to?" I asked more calmly. I had an inkling, though, of exactly how she expected me to get into that mansion.

"You know how," she affirmed quietly.

I groaned. When did I turn into some sort of hero, expected to save the city? I wasn't the good guy; I didn't particularly give a shit about Kurauchi, or even about Windbloom. But looking at my desk where Shizuru had been casually lounging only an hour ago, flirting like there was no tomorrow, reminded me I wasn't the bad guy, either.

"Natsuki?"

I raised the phone back to my ear. "Fine. I'll be there." I hung up and grabbed my coat before walking out of my apartment. I locked the door absentmindedly, more out of habit than necessity—it wasn't going to matter to me later because everything was ending tonight. The final confrontation—I only hoped I'd walk away alive.

I had to get into that mansion first, though, and to do that, I would have to step into a role I thought I'd left behind a long time ago.

The neon Garderobe sign flickered brightly in the night, flashy as ever. The night was young and things were just revving up in the joint, but I didn't have time to appreciate any of that. I headed straight for Reito's door and knocked.

No response. I pressed my ear to the door and, hearing nothing, tried the doorknob. Locked. Well, at least that could be solved easily. I took out the small lockpicking kit I carried around and had the door open in under ten seconds.

I headed straight for Reito's desk and began looking through the drawers. Every request for a Garderobe escort was recorded; I was looking for the most recently placed orders and hoping one of them was for tonight's gala. That was my ticket in.

Finding nothing in the first drawer, I yanked open the second. I impatiently shuffled through the various files until a particular folder caught my eye, a similar one just behind it. My eyes involuntarily widened at seeing the official Windbloom PD seal, as well as the familiar 'Confidential' stamped upon the folders. I pulled both folders out and nearly tore the covers off in my haste to open them, sitting back heavily in the chair when I realized what they contained.

Why did Reito Kanzaki have Yuuichi Tate and Miya Clochette's case files hidden away in his desk?

* * *

><p><em>No, I'm not dead. Yes, I'm a lazy fucker for not updating since November. No, I will not take eighty years until the next update. Yes, I promise. No, I will not swear a blood oath.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you very much for the reviews—they truly make my day. I wish I could give you all hugs, or at least an awkward-but-heartfelt pat on the back. I would've updated a few days ago, but I hand-write out most of the chapters for all my stories in a notebook, and I seem to have misplaced it, either on the subway or at home/school. If I left it on the subway, I'll have to start all my stories from scratch; if I left it at home/school, there runs the chance someone might read it, which would be bad 'cause no one knows I happen to like the ladies as much as I like guys…a rock and a hard place, indeed…_

_To anon: SIR OR MADAM! IT WOULD BE A TRAVESTY INDEED TO MAKE YOU ALL WAIT ANY LONGER. I BEG YOUR PARDON._

_**Reminder:** This story is rated M!_

* * *

><p>The air in the room seemed oppressive, bearing down heavily on my shoulders, while silence reigned, interspersed by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Each tick reminded me time was running out, but I couldn't leave until I figured out what Reito was playing at. The files in my hand were incriminating, but I didn't peg him to be the murdering type of guy, and my instincts have never let me down before. There's always a first time for everything, though.<p>

I leaned against the wall adjacent to the door, out of sight of anyone who first entered the room. The detective part of me rationalized that if Reito really were guilty, I didn't want him to cut and run the second he saw me. The rest of me just wanted to see the look on his face when he discovered I broke into his office.

The door swung open and in walked Reito, whistling tunelessly to himself. He stopped short at seeing the mess I had left of his desk, drawers pulled out and papers scattered everywhere. "What the hell…"

"My sentiments exactly, Kanzaki." I kicked the door shut behind me. He jumped and whirled around.

"Kuga, how'd you get in here?" He demanded.

"I flew," I deadpanned sarcastically before holding up Tate and Miyu's files. "Mind explaining to me what these are?"

His eyes darted between the papers in my hand and my face. I recognized his intent the moment his feet shifted and pivoted to the side just in time to avoid his right hook.

"Stop," I said, almost bored. Not the first time someone tried to hit me when I confronted them. He bounced on his toes and eyed me appraisingly in the way typical of boxers. I had little warning before he lashed out again, this time clipping my ear and forcing me to stumble back a bit.

Screw this. The people who had nothing to hide never reacted so violently. I threw the folders in his face with one hand, causing him to flinch, while my other hand curled around the brass knuckles in my pocket. He barely had time to blink before I socked him in the chin, sending him flying backwards onto his desk.

Reito sat up, looking dazed, and gingerly touched the ugly purple blooming on his chin. I pocketed my brass knuckles and raised an eyebrow, hoping I tempered my strength enough not to break his jaw. "You okay?"

He grimaced and spat something into a tissue. "Bit my tongue."

"Let me see." I grasped his jaw and peered into his mouth before slapping his chin closed. "You'll live. Be grateful I didn't break a tooth."

He scowled darkly. "Were the fucking brass knuckles really necessary?"

"The punches weren't necessary, either. I _warned_ you," I shot back testily. Picking up the papers I threw, I held them up again. "Are you going to talk now, or do I need to kick your ass again?"

"That was a lucky shot," he grumbled. He sat down behind his desk and took out a bottle of scotch and two tumblers, pouring the liquor into both before holding one out to me. I looked at it dubiously. He sighed and pointedly took a sip from both glasses before offering it again. "Happy?"

"No. Now your germs are on it." I accepted the glass anyway, only because I could never turn down free liquor. "So what's the deal with the files, Kanzaki?"

Reito leaned back in his chair. "I'm surprised you aren't jumping down my throat about being the murderer. I have the missing case files—how come you're not accusing me of killing these people?"

"Because you fight like a pussy, offense intended."

He looked insulted. "You caught me off guard."

"The killer almost slit my throat yesterday, while _you_ could barely even touch me. Besides, if you meant to kill me, you would've gone for that Luger in your waistband." I nodded at the barely noticeable bulge of a concealed weapon under his jacket.

Reito raised an eyebrow. "You really do notice everything."

"Isn't that why you hired me?" I tapped the folders. "Though I don't understand why you would if you were already planning to fuck with my investigation."

He winced. "You were never really supposed to solve the murders."

"And why the fuck would you not want me to catch the killer?" I demanded.

He avoided my gaze. "I thought if you showed up, the possibility of getting caught would discourage her from killing again."

At his guilty expression, I connected the dots and groaned. "It's Shizuru. Jesus Christ, you think Shizuru's the murderer."

"I love her," he blurted out desperately.

"Yeah, and I bet the victims did, too," I snapped. "You're thinking she murdered four people and you don't turn her in? The fuck are you smoking?"

"It's not like that!" Reito protested earnestly. "She can change, I know it—"

"You're delusional." I shook my head. "You really thought she'd just stop? That calling me in would make her think twice before her next victim?"

"I couldn't call the police; they would've caught her! She'd be given the death penalty!"

I scowled at him. "Okay, first of all, you give the Windbloom PD too much credit. I'm a hell of a lot better at this job than they are. Second, don't you think Anh Lu's murder would've implied something like, I don't know, the murderer doesn't give two shits about who's watching?"

"Would you turn in the woman you love?"

"If I thought she was a psychotic serial killer bitch? Hell yes. As it is, you just put another person in danger—Kazuya Kurauchi."

"I wasn't going to, but he was so insistent on getting Viola that I couldn't say no. It would've been suspicious." Reito shrugged helplessly.

"Oh, I get it. You love Shizuru, but you love money more."

"That's not true," he protested weakly.

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Thanks to you, now I have to get into that gala to save Kurauchi's ass—he's the next target."

He slumped in his seat. "Well, how are you going to get in? Security's going to be extremely tight, and flashing your tits won't work."

"Au contraire." I waved a small black planner at him. "I took the liberty of looking through your schedule, hope you don't mind." He looked ready to object, but I shut him down with a glare. "Nao is supposed to be escorting someone to that event. You're telling this—" I consulted his planner. "—Sakomizu that she's ill tonight, and I'm her replacement. I'll hang off his arm, look pretty and keep my mouth shut, and presto! I'm inside."

Reito laughed once. "Not bad. Can you pull off being an escort, though?" He looked at me skeptically.

I smiled bitterly. "Trust me, I think I can handle it."

"You sure? They don't let just anyone in, you know," he pressed.

"Don't worry your little head about it, Pretty Boy," I sneered. "I've been at Garderobe longer than you have, and I looked better, too."

Understanding dawned in Reito's eyes and his jaw dropped. "Natsuki Kuga—as in Kruger? I thought your name was familiar! You—you used to work here!"

"Like I said, don't worry about it." I stood up and headed toward the door. "I'm gonna go change into my costume. Be a good boy and call Sakomizu, let him know I'll be showing up soon."

"Uh, sure." He looked startled at the rapid change of pace, but obligingly picked up the phone.

I paused in the doorway. "And Kanzaki?"

He looked up from the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Next time, either get your facts straight or leave the detective work to me. Shizuru's not the killer." I let the door slam shut behind me as I walked away.

* * *

><p>I'd almost forgotten how much I hated being an escort—the short, tight dresses that left no place to conceal my guns, the seductive charm I had to constantly exude around my client, the blatant leering directed my way by everyone with a pair of working eyes—it all got tiring real fast. The day Yamada whisked me away from Garderobe to his dump of an apartment was one of the happiest days of my life, though I count those on one hand. If I'd stayed an escort, I probably would've ended up assaulting a client. As it was, if Sakomizu tried to cop a feel one more time…<p>

The hand perched on my lower back began to slowly trail south. I bared my teeth in a parody of a smile for the flashing cameras and linked arms with the portly man, elbowing him sharply in the ribs in the process. He let out a grunt and quickly pulled away the offending hand.

"Touch me with that hand again and I'll break it, Fat Man," I hissed into his ear.

The older man let out a booming laugh. "Feisty, Ms. Kruger, just how I like it. Now smile for the cameras!"

There was practically a red carpet laid out in front of Marguerite's mansion, only emphasizing the importance of this fundraiser for her campaign. Looking around, I recognized nearly everyone schmoozing around in front of paparazzi. Half of them had hired me for various investigative work—which mistress was whose, whose illegitimate child was where, et cetera et cetera. More than half despised each other's guts; all were disgustingly wealthy.

"Natsuki! Over here!"

I turned my head at hearing someone yell my name over the din of the crowd. I saw Yukino and Haruka beckoning me from behind the barriers that held onlookers at bay.

I stalked away from my supposed date without so much as an "excuse me" and headed straight for them. "Is Shizuru inside yet?" I hissed at Yukino.

"She and Kurauchi just headed in. Marguerite was very particular about having his attendance noted—it's good publicity for her campaign," Yukino said. She peered behind me. "Is that Kaiji Sakomizu, the supermarket magnate, you're with?"

"I prefer to call him the stupid fuck with an afro who keeps trying to squeeze my ass," I grumbled.

"To be fair, your ass does look really good in that dress," Yukino allowed.

"Where do you keep your guns?" Haruka muttered disapprovingly.

I grimaced. "Strapped to my inner thigh. It's making walking a pain in the ass."

"So what's the plan? Gonna go in with guns blazing?" Yukino asked.

"Good plan." Haruka nodded.

"Yeah, if I wanted several holes blown into me by security." I nodded at the armed guards holding shotguns stationed at the doors.

"So take them out first. I'll help," Haruka volunteered.

"No, just listen." They looked at me expectantly. "I don't actually have a concrete plan," I admitted.

"Natsuki—" Yukino groaned.

I held up my hands. "Hear me out! The killer's somewhere in that building. All I have to do is bait them—lure them out, make them take off the mask." I paused.

"Then?" Yukino prompted.

"I'll figure it out once when I get there."

"We'll come in with you."

"No, stay out here. One person, the murderer can handle. Three people, and he might think it's not worth the trouble. Call Mai, let her know what's going on—she'll know what to do. We're catching this guy tonight." I spotted Sakomizu heading toward us and turned back to Yukino and Haruka. "One last thing—if I don't come out, keep an eye on anyone driving a Ferrari, alright?"

"A Ferrari?" Yukino echoed, looking confused.

I nodded rapidly. "Yeah, note of any that come in and out of here tonight. It's important—"

"Excuse me, ladies," Sakomizu interrupted. "I'm afraid I'll have to steal my date away now—the doors are closing. Wouldn't want to be left out here, would we?"

"I'm not _your_ anything," I spat out.

He chuckled and winked at Yukino and Haruka. "This one's going to be a real handful tonight, I tell you. I'm going to enjoy every second of it."

Yukino effortlessly slipped back into the role of reporter. "Mr. Sakomizu, do you have anything to say about the three separate sexual harassment suits filed against you by your company's female employees?"

Sakomizu's smile immediately dropped, his round face twitching in displeasure. "No comment. Get out of here before I call security." He turned away, dragging me away with him.

I turned my head to look at my friends one last time. "_Good luck,_" Yukino mouthed while Haruka nodded at me. I gave them a thumbs-up and turned back, looking up at the Marguerite Mansion.

I could use all the luck I could get.

_-000-000-_

Sakomizu moved surprisingly fast for such a large man, whisking me around to various circles of people lingering inside the mansion's large entrance hall. Through the gaps in the crowd of guests, I could see Kazuya and Shizuru across the room. I surreptitiously angled my body toward them, slowly leading an oblivious Sakomizu across the room. Once he caught sight of Windbloom City's infamous young upstart, he immediately rushed to make his presence known to Kazuya.

"Counselor! I'm glad you could make it." The fat man outstretched a hand toward Kazuya Kurauchi. I was quickly distracted from Sakomizu's ass-kissing, though, by the intense stare Shizuru was leveling at me. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and winked at her, smirking when her glare intensified.

"Sakomizu." Kazuya nodded. He was rather young, didn't give the impression of being the threat to Windbloom's elite that Yukino told me he was.

"And who is this?" Sakomizu's eyes trailed up and down Shizuru, not bothering to hide the blatant hunger in his eyes. I surreptitiously dug my heel into his toes, causing him to wince and look away.

"Ms. Viola has kindly agreed to accompany me for the night," Kazuya said. Sure, if by 'agreed' he meant 'got paid several thousand for'. He smiled at me. "And the lovely lady at your side?"

"This is my _friend,_ Ms. Kruger," Sakomizu boasted, putting a slight inflection on 'friend' so everyone had no doubt as to what kind of friend I really was.

"We're not friends," I stated bluntly. As far as I was concerned, Sakomizu had served his purpose of getting me in. Kazuya raised his eyebrows in shock, while Shizuru disguised a laugh as a cough.

"She's kidding—a real jester, this one," Sakomizu blustered.

I ignored him, trying to decide how to get Kazuya away from Shizuru as quickly as possible. "Listen, Kazuya—I can call you Kazuya, right?" He nodded, still surprised. "I appreciate what you're trying to do with this city, even though it's a lost cause—"

"It's not," he suddenly interrupted, halting my rant before it could gather steam. Rude.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry?"

"Windbloom City is not a lost cause," he clarified. "Not when there's at least one person willing to speak out."

"And I supposed you're that one person?" I asked sarcastically. He looked earnest, but acting isn't only limited to Hollywood.

He shrugged. "I'm trying to be."

I crossed my arms. "What do you get out of it?"

"Atonement."

"For what?" Shizuru interjected, her curiosity piqued.

"For something I failed to do a long time ago." He held my stare, the regret and weariness in his eyes suddenly making him look ages older.

Sakomizu awkwardly cleared his throat to interrupt our staring contest. "Very interesting philosophy, Kazuya. Still, I think you should loosen up, have more fun! Maybe take it easy on the job and find yourself a lady." He winked jovially.

Kazuya's jaw tightened. "No, thank you."

"I admire your dedication, Counselor. It keeps our city running," a smooth voice cut in. I turned to see the intruder step forward to join the circle. Short teal hair streaked with grey. Cold, glittering eyes set above a smile stretched just a tad too wide to be authentic.

Windbloom City's mayor, Aiko Marguerite.

"Madam Mayor!" Sakomizu boomed. "Wonderful party you're throwing here—you certainly have my vote."

Marguerite inclined her head before turning to Kazuya. "And can I count on yours, Kazuya?" After a cursory glance toward Shizuru and me, she didn't bother to acknowledge us, likely knowing we were nobody politically or financially significant. I scoffed. Bitch, I could totally vote if I wanted to.

"I prefer to remain impartial," Kazuya said neutrally. I had to hand it to him—at least he was more likeable than Sakomizu.

The mayor's lips pursed the tiniest bit before splitting into a smile. "But of course. Your code of conduct has always been…" she paused. "Different."

Time to get the attention back on me. "Yep, that's our boy—he's real special," I interrupted, brazenly reaching out to pat Kazuya on the cheek several times. He reared back in surprise, shooting me an incredulous look along with the mayor and Sakomizu. Shizuru's look screamed 'what-the-fuck-are-you-doing,' which I ignored.

Distraction, distraction, I needed a distraction. At that moment, the orchestra began to play. Perfect. I turned to Shizuru and grabbed her hand. "Would you care to dance, Ms. Viola?" I dragged her away before she could respond, leaving the group gaping after us.

Pulling Shizuru to the center of the dance floor, I cocked an ear toward the orchestra to determine what dance would be appropriate. Waltz, salsa, foxtrot? A smile crept across my face when the violins began wailing, melding with the gentle strumming of guitars and soft crooning of the accordion in four-time beat. Tango it was.

"What are you doing?" Shizuru muttered when I pulled her in close, close enough that our foreheads were touching.

"Dancing." I spun her around before bringing her back in. "Don't tell me you've forgotten all the lessons we learned at Garderobe." Twirl once, dip, run hand up and down her leg. Simple.

Shizuru easily followed along, letting my arms encircle her from behind before spinning away, glaring at me all the while. "You know what I mean," she hissed, sliding up my body, lips pressed against my ear.

"I'm afraid I don't." I growled when she ran her nails hard down my back in retribution, no doubt causing the skin to redden. The music seemed tailored to our dance, becoming louder and wilder with every step we took.

"Don't play games with me, Natsuki." She shoved me back, disguising it as a rather passionate part of the tango. Unnecessarily violent, in my opinion.

I buried my nose into her hair, taking in the sweet scent of her shampoo. "Me? Never." I bit back an involuntary groan when she slid a hand around my upper thigh. "Getting forward, aren't we?"

"I can _feel_ the guns strapped your leg. What are you up to?" She lifted a thigh up to my waist and let me drag her across the floor.

"You sure those are my guns?" I wiggled my eyebrows. Spin, dip, push, pull. Someone whistled when I dropped to the floor, Shizuru sweeping a leg out over my head. Good—the more attention on us, the less on Kazuya. We were gathering an audience, though who could blame them? I knew Shizuru and I looked good together—light and dark, hot and cold, push and pull. Besides, no one can resist the allure of the tango, especially between two beautiful women.

Shizuru was breathing hard by the time the climax of the dance approached—mostly from exertion, probably, but I like to flatter myself and attributed it to sexual frustration, too. It'd be embarrassing if I were the only one to be hot and bothered. I scanned the faces of enraptured onlookers—many were gaping at our display, but not everyone. The murderer was in this mansion somewhere, I was sure of it, but in this crowd watching us dance? I couldn't be certain. I needed a scandal, something audacious enough that everyone would be buzzing about it.

"Now where are we going?" Shizuru asked in irritation when I caught her hand and led her off the dance floor, abruptly ending the dance. I saw Kazuya's pissed off face making his way toward us and immediately changed track, taking off in the opposite direction.

"Five minutes of your time, that's all I need." I expertly weaved my way through the crowd and purposely tugged her into the bathroom, ignoring the angry cries of the people waiting in line. It was certainly the one of the fanciest bathrooms I'd ever seen, but I wasn't here for the scenery.

"Five minutes for what—" Shizuru managed to get out before I spun her around and pushed her up against the sink to kiss her. She was taken off guard, I could tell—her lips were pliable against mine, softer than I remembered. By the time she relaxed into my arms and began to respond, I moved on to her neck, harshly sucking soft skin before soothing the redness with my tongue.

She gasped my name, fingers winding in my hair. I tightened my grip around her waist when I felt her knees buckle and lifted her onto the sink, stepping closer to stand between her legs. This was an old dance, older than the tango we just shared—ever light and dark, hot and cold, push and pull. I knew exactly what buttons to press to get the reactions I wanted; what I wanted was for her to lose control. I unabashedly ran my hands up her sides and over her breasts, involuntarily pouting when she clamped her hands around my wrists.

"Stop trying to distract me and tell me why you're here," she hissed. I smirked when she let hands remain where they were, though.

"Stop trying to distract _me_," I countered. Shizuru's eyelashes fluttered when my right hand disappeared underneath her dress, inching toward the place radiating an impossible heat. I raised an eyebrow and laughed lowly into her ear. "No underwear? How scandalous, Ms. Viola." I was pleased to note that no, I _wasn't_ the only one hot and bothered right now.

"Shut up." She was leaning into me, elbows resting on my shoulders, eyes clenched shut. I wanted to see her eyes, but she shook her head at my request and stubbornly refused to open them, her face scrunching in annoyance when I kissed the bridge of her nose.

A sharp knocking on the door startled me out of my rhythm. Shizuru finally opened her eyes to glare at me when I pulled away. "Come back here and finish!"

But my job here was already done. Considering how long we'd been in the bathroom together, as well as the unmistakable noises sure to have been heard and the prominent hickey on Shizuru's neck, was enough to burn the whole damn rumor mill to the ground, which was all I ever wanted. I kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door. "It's rude to keep these people waiting, Shizuru."

"Who are you trying to piss off, Natsuki?" She demanded, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

"Besides you?" I winked at her.

Shizuru slammed the door shut with her hand just as I opened it. "You're not going out there."

"But the scandal—" I started in mock horror.

"I'm not blind, Natsuki," she interrupted heatedly. "You're provoking the murderer. I should've seen it coming—always playing the martyr, aren't you? You need to leave this place, now!"

"Too late, Shizuru. Everyone's already seen us—at least, you've made sure they _heard_ us."

She refused to rise to the bait. "Please. Just _leave_," she whispered desperately.

I lunged up to kiss her once before yanking open the door and shoving her into an enraged Kazuya's arms. He caught her and glared at me, his manly pride lying in shambles around him. "Just who the hell _are_ you?" He demanded.

"The woman who just seduced and fucked your date in the bathroom," I replied nonchalantly. The onlookers around us gasped in scandalized delight, and I smiled wolfishly at them before stalking away, avoiding Shizuru's struggle to escape Kazuya's arms and her burning gaze. She and Kazuya were relatively safe, for now—but the target had undoubtedly shifted to rest on my back.

By the looks being thrown my way as I passed, I could tell word had traveled faster than lightning around the room. Their expressions ranged from disapproving from admiring, but all I had to do was to detect that one person nursing homicidal rage. Easy, right?

Fucking wrong. Just as I was about to slip into a dark corner in order to survey the room in its entirety, I felt a shadow slide up behind me. I attempted to spin around, immediately reaching for my guns, but a sharp pinch in my side of my neck made me flinch. A goddamn needle. Stupid of me, really—I should have expected something like this, instead of waiting for someone to come at me in front of everyone. I was the perfect bait, but I failed to set the trap; all brawn and no brains, me.

The rush of vertigo accompanying the drugs that had just been injected into my system caused my vision to go blurry, my mouth dry, my legs unsteady. Whatever it was, it was a potent cocktail of chemicals. I could hear several exclamations of surprise when I collapsed. Someone caught me before I touched the floor.

"I'll take care of Ms. Kuga. Don't worry, I'm a doctor," a calm voice reassured the onlookers. Kuga, not Kruger. Fuck. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I succumbed to the darkness.

_-000-000-_

I woke up spread-eagled on my back, arms and legs strapped down to what appeared to be a steel operating table. I squinted against the excruciatingly bright light shining in my face. A shadow fell across the table, and I tried to force my eyes open wide enough to see my kidnapper.

"Hello." Perfect white teeth grinned down at me.

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><p><em>Lalala I'm sure you've got several questions—all shall hopefully become clear in the end. No me gusta this chapter—hope it was worth the wait, though. Now that I've fed you silly, insatiable beasts (whom I love very much!) I'm gonna go drink myself silly and celebrate the end of my high school career, huzzah. <em>


	7. Chapter 7

_**I considered cutting this chapter into two, but that would've left me with one chapter shorter than the other, which is extremely annoying. So here's a long one for you! [That's what he said, cough cough]**_

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><p><em>Previously on A Dame to Kill For:<em>

_I woke up spread-eagled on my back, arms and legs strapped down to what appeared to be a steel operating table. I squinted against the excruciatingly bright light shining in my face. A shadow fell across the table, and I tried to force my eyes open wide enough to see my kidnapper._

_"Hello." Perfect white teeth grinned down at me._

* * *

><p>The light was shining directly into my eyes, blinding me, but my ears worked just fine. The person's voice was too high in register to be anything but a woman. The second sound I was aware of was the steady, low beeping of a heart-rate monitor—proof that my heart was still beating, I realized. At least that was a comforting thought.<p>

"How are you feeling?" My captor asked genially.

My immediate response was a "Fuck you," but what came out of my mouth instead was an unintelligible groan.

She chuckled. "Don't worry, I get that a lot. The tranquilizer I gave you should be wearing off right about now."

I licked my lips to alleviate the dryness and tried again. "Who the fuck are you?" My voice came out as a rasp.

The woman tsked. "That's right, I don't think we've been formally introduced." She stepped away from the table and theatrically bowed. I rolled my head sideways and took in a woman in a white lab coat, short teal hair framing a heart-shaped face and cold grey eyes. "Dr. Tomoe Marguerite, at your service."

"All I heard was 'Blah blah blah, I'm a psycho bitch,'" I snapped back. The pounding in my head wouldn't stop. "You're the Mayor's daughter." The resemblance was uncanny.

"And you're Natsuki Kuga. You've been quite the nuisance, Natsuki." She drummed the table with her fingers, eyes roving up and down my body in curiosity. "I'd thought you'd be taller."

"It's the table. Takes away three inches," I bit back sarcastically.

She eyed me in amusement. "My, but you _do_ have a smart mouth. My sources weren't wrong after all."

I glared at her. "You've been asking around about me," I stated. "How long?"

"Long enough, Natsuki, long enough."

I looked around. The lone lamp above the table was the only source of light, casting the rest of the room in shadow. Scorched walls, empty hinges where doors were supposed to be, corridors that melted into darkness—definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto. "Where am I?"

"This is my playground, my domain, my experimental laboratory. You may know it as the former St. Anthony's Hospital."

The name was vaguely familiar; a hospital on the outskirts of Windbloom, it was now an empty, burned-out husk due to a fire years ago. The city never got around to fixing it up, and people usually stayed away because of various rumors floating around: it was haunted, it was a crackhouse, it was Mafia territory. Guess serial killer hideout could now be added to the list.

Tomoe saw the recognition dawn on my face and smiled. "Do you like it? I thought it particularly appropriate to set up my workshop here, far away enough so no one can hear the screaming." She chuckled. "I find it deliciously ironic that Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost things, and yet the bodies of my patients are never found."

Bodies…as in plural. Oh, fucking fantastic. "Sounds fascinating."

"Ah, our brave little detective. Tell me, will you still be as stoic when I take out your heart?"

"How long was I out?" I demanded, not in the mood to deal with her particular brand of crazy.

"Does it matter? We're going to be together all night…" Tomoe paused. "If you live that long, that is."

I couldn't have been out longer than a couple hours. Yukino and Haruka would've contacted Mai by now; Mai, while not as brilliant as me, of course, was still pretty damn good. By now she would've put out an APB for Ferraris in Windbloom. It'd be a broad search, but with the scalpel I'd sent her and other clues she had, she would've pieced everything together and narrowed down the field of search. All I had to do was sit pretty and wait. I sighed. It sucked being the bait.

Tomoe cocked her head. "You're the first patient I've had who hasn't started panicking, Natsuki. Aren't you afraid of the pain, of death?"

I didn't respond. She shrugged. "No matter. It's rather refreshing to have a calm one. Shall I explain what I do? I've tried with the others, but every time I mentioned their impending deaths, well…" She rolled her eyes. "They just wouldn't get past that."

"I wonder why."

Her eyes narrowed at my blasé tone. "Careful, Natsuki. What you say now makes the difference between a painful death and an excruciating one." A flash of silver caught my eyes. My stomach turned. She was twisting a scalpel around in her hands, an array of blades in different shapes and sizes laid out on the tray next to her.

I kept my mouth shut. She nodded in approval. "As I was saying, the ones before you usually start begging by now. It provides half the entertainment, you know."

"And the other half?" I asked, dreading to hear the answer, but wanting to distract her from using the scalpel until the WCPD arrived.

"Comes from the screaming, of course." She held the scalpel up to the light. "You're the first patient I've had here in a while, so believe me when I say I am very, _very_ excited. "

"What about Tate, Clochette, Dai Artai, and Lu?" I asked, listing her most recent victims.

She looked inordinately pleased. "Oh, you found out about those? Well done."

"Wasn't too hard, considering the blatant incongruences in each death," I pointed out.

"Perhaps. The medical examiner was all too easy to bribe, though." Tomoe leaned down to look me in the eye. "You see, Natsuki, I usually prey on the most vulnerable in our city. The homeless, drug addicts, runaways—I bring them here, I have my fun, I dump their bodies. No one's going to miss them because they're _nobodies._ Now for the four you just mentioned, well, they're _somebodies_—the same rules don't apply. I couldn't dispose of them using my usual methods because it would be too noticeable."

"Murder _does_ tend to be rather conspicuous."

She chuckled indulgently. "It was refreshing to branch out—poison for the first, multiple blunt-force trauma the second, a bullet to the head third, and asphyxiation for the last. None of them saw it coming."

"They wouldn't suspect anything since you traveled in the same circles," I deduced.

"All except for Miss Clochette—she was surprisingly wary of strangers, even though she knew of my family. I had to send her a message pretending to be Shizuru in order to get her alone," Tomoe explained lazily.

Ah. Now we were at the crux of the matter. "You killed them for Shizuru." Not a question; a simple statement of fact.

"And also why I'm going to kill you, of course." Her gleeful expression suddenly turned ominous.

I shifted on the table, subtly tugging on my restraints to test their strength. "See, that's where I have to disagree." The leather strap binding my right hand to the table was slightly looser than my left. I began to surreptitiously wriggle my wrist, trying to create enough space to slip my hand out.

"I don't see how. You touched her, I saw it." Tomoe was visibly growing more agitated, twisting the scalpel around and around in her hands. "You touched her! I saw it! You put your filthy hands all over her!" She screamed, voice echoing through the desolate emptiness of the hospital.

I barely restrained myself from flinching. I was treading on a dangerous line, one that made a difference between me stalling for time until Mai showed up and me pissing Tomoe off so much she decided to stab me and get it over with. "Nah, that part's true—and trust me, I did a lot more than just touching. But she isn't _yours_."

Tomoe took a deep breath and let it out before laughing darkly. "No, you're right. Shizuru still doesn't belong to me…and we both know the reason why."

"Because she isn't a possession you can own? Because you've only known her for, I don't know, a month? That isn't love, that's obsession." The restraint was becoming looser bit by bit, but it was frustrating because I had to stop every time Tomoe broke eye contact.

"She isn't yet mine because currently she's preoccupied with someone _else_," she muttered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tomoe slammed a hand on the table next to my head. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you. I gave you a very clear warning, yet you chose to ignore it!"

"Do you mean the part when you left Anh Lu swinging from my ceiling, or the part when you tried to slit my throat? It was pretty hard to ignore both, actually."

"I thought the message was obvious: stay away from Shizuru. Clearly not, considering how you so brazenly came into _my_ house and fucked her in front of me," she uttered angrily.

I smirked at Tomoe. "What can I say? She really gives plenty of bang for the buck, if you know what I mean." My head jerked to the side as Tomoe viciously backhanded me.

"You can't lie to me—I know everything about you and her," she sneered. "Want to know how?"

I glared at her, almost feeling the bruise darkening on my cheek. "Would it stop you if I said no?" The skin of my wrist was chafing against the strap, still too tight to slip my hand through.

She began to pace before me in agitation. "The night of the gala, I followed Anh and Shizuru to Anh's apartment. Every time she put her worthless paws on my Shizuru, I could feel myself losing it. But then Shizuru left, giving me the perfect opportunity to get rid of Anh."

My stomach dropped, my body flushing both cold and warm. I had a hunch of where this was going, and it wasn't going to be good for me. Tomoe was staring somewhere off into the distance, lost in thought. "I only got to taste Shizuru's skin once, you know," she said suddenly. "She always refused to sleep with me again after that, no matter how much money I offered. I asked her what stopped her, and you know what she said?"

"Because you're a fucking lunatic?" I guessed. I clenched my jaw as Tomoe pressed the flat of the scalpel against my throat in warning.

"'Love,' she told me. And that broke my heart." Tomoe chuckled darkly. "But I digress. Anh was surprised to see me when I showed up at her door—she was more used to dealing with my mother. Social etiquette required her to invite me in…unfortunately for her. I threw the rope around her neck when her back was turned—and squeezed." Tomoe gleefully mimed the motion. "She didn't sleep with Shizuru that night, oh no, but she had to be punished for attempting to. Once I had her body in my hands, I had an epiphany—why not leave her as a gift for the scrappy little detective at my heels?"

I felt sick, dread putting a heavy pressure on my chest. I knew what she saw. Mai needed to come get me, _now_, before Tomoe snapped.

Tomoe continued at my silence. "So I placed her in your apartment and sat in my car across the street, anticipating your return. Imagine my confusion when one hour turned into two, and two into four." Her teeth flashed white in the dim light. "Can you picture the unease I felt, Natsuki, when you didn't come home? My gut started telling me to check on Shizuru. 'Impossible,' I denied to myself, but there was a sour taste in my mouth that wouldn't go away. You know the feeling?"

"Yeah, I'm getting it right now from looking at you," I choked out.

She ignored me. "So I did. I went to her apartment, knowing I would be able to see her through the window from the roof of the building across the street. I had done it many times before, but imagine my surprise when this time…" her voice dropped dangerously. "…I saw you two fucking like there was no tomorrow."

Murder was blazing in her eyes. I let out a hollow laugh, silently demanding Mai to hurry her ass up. "Great story, but so what? Shizuru's a whore, it's what she does. If anything, you should be blaming her."

"Oh, I fully intend on having her make it up to me," she said flatly. "But I love her. You, on the other hand…" she chuckled darkly. "You have no idea how much I hate you."

"Believe me, the feeling is fully mutual," I assured.

Tomoe pressed the scalpel down harder. I gritted my teeth against the slight sting, her eyes reverently following the thin trail of blood trickling down the side of my neck. "But if she can love you, then she can love me. All I need to do is get you out of the way."

My eyes involuntarily widened. "Shizuru doesn't love me," I choked out, aware of the cold blade rasping the skin above my pulse point. Both our heads turned to the EKG machine when it issued the staccato sound of accelerated beeping. I silently damned my traitorous heart.

Tomoe's lips curled distastefully. "Liar," she softly uttered.

I changed tack, smirking at her. "Killing me won't make her love you. In fact, I'm inclined to think it'll do the exact opposite—she's kind of crazy about me," I taunted.

Tomoe turned pale with rage. "Maybe, maybe not, but I'm willing to take that chance." She donned a surgical face shield and began to pick up different scalpels, trying to decide which one to use. "Did you know I was almost expelled from medical school? Apparently something about performing a human vivisection rubbed them the wrong way…" She shrugged indifferently. "The patient was brain-dead anyway. I was blacklisted for a while, but my mother smoothed everything over."

"Never pegged you for a mama's girl," I remarked, not liking the way she was smiling at a particularly large scalpel. Tugging harder against the binding wasn't working—time was running out, and I needed to get free, pronto.

"Oh, she disapproves of my actions, but leaves it well enough alone provided I don't interfere with her career ambitions. Blood is thicker than water, as they say. But you'll soon see that for yourself firsthand—literally," she offhandedly commented, tracing the stitches on my left arm with the scalpel. "It's a shame I missed your throat—it would've been a beautiful cut."

"Your idea of beauty and mine are very different." My jaw clenched when she began to slice open the stitches.

"Painful?" She asked euphorically, licking her lips at the sight of blood oozing through the cut.

"Fuck off."

The restraint wasn't loosening fast enough. I was out of time.

"Oh, it's going to get much, much worse," she reassured me. "Here's what's going to happen, Natsuki. I am going to dissect you alive, starting with your outer extremities, and work inwards until your heart gives out. You will have the privilege of seeing the deepest nerves in your body exposed, the layers of fat and flesh peeled back until bone is uncovered, the ocean of blood that'll drip out of your severed veins with each desperate heartbeat. The EKG will give me an estimation of how long you'll last—if I'm good, it'll be at least twenty minutes. My last patient was able to remain conscious until I opened his abdominal cavity. Let's see if you can surpass him, hmm?" With that, she thrust the scalpel into my reopened laceration and dragged the blade downwards, cutting smoothly through soft tissue and sinewy muscle.

The pain almost didn't register at first, until it did. My blood had been replaced by lava, my arm engulfed by fire and spreading through my body until even the thinnest nerves at the furthest ends of my toes were screaming.

As I watched my skin split open before the blade like butter, I had split seconds to mull over my vague sense of betrayal and the deepest pangs of regret. Mai had failed me, something that was almost unbelievable—she'd always had my back for as long as I'd known her. Our minds worked nearly the same way, and the fact that she wasn't here for me now made me wonder if I had overestimated her the entire time. Maybe the successes of our previous escapades together were due more to luck than to our skill. As much as I blustered on about the perils of my job and the countless near-death escapes I'd had, I never really thought I was going to die. It was almost surreal—no matter how much you think you're prepared for death, actually _dying_ will always take you by surprise, that last moment of _oh shit, how could this happen_ running rampant through your consciousness, your entire body rebelling at the notion that it will soon cease to taste and see and hear and breathe and laugh and love and simply _live_. Say what you want about religion and heaven-and-hell and whatnot, but the fact remains that being dead means you're nothing but a sack of flesh and bone and fluid that'll rot in a couple days, depending on the weather.

If dying in a grody, burned-down building with no one but a psychopath for company wasn't motivation enough for one last attempt to escape, the thought of honey-blonde hair and crimson eyes at the mercy of said psychopath forced me to ignore the pain, curl my right hand into a claw, and yank it through the restraint with all my strength. After two forceful pulls, a nasty pop sounded—the indication of a dislocated wrist. I ignored the pain that shot up my right arm—paltry compared to the agony in my left, really—and immediately sat up. Tomoe's head snapped up just in time to take the full brunt of my punch. I hit her with all my strength, not caring that my wrist was twisted at a tortuous angle as the bones in my hand crunched against her nose.

"Fucking bitch!" She reeled back in pain.

Grabbing the scalpel she dropped, I sawed through the restraint on my left arm. Blood was gushing out of the gaping incision like a river, every movement bringing on a fresh new wave of red, and I blanched at seeing the mass of bluish-red strings of nerves and veins peeking through the gash. Upper body now free, my fingers scrabbled desperately at the bindings on my legs before Tomoe lunged forward to tackle me back.

"Wrong move, Natsuki," she hissed before slamming my head against the table. I head-butted her to get her off me, my trapped legs putting me at a disadvantage as we wrestled for control over the scalpel. My hand curled around the handle; in desperation I blindly stabbed forward and recoiled in shock when she let out a piercing scream. Sticking straight out of her right eye socket was the scalpel.

"Eye for an eye, bitch," I quipped as she staggered backwards. Still wailing like a banshee, Tomoe thrust her hand into her pocket. I caught a brief glimpse of a small black object before excruciating pain exploded throughout my body, lasting for several seconds. My back arched in agony, involuntary spasms locking up all my muscles and incapacitating me, during which Tomoe took the opportunity to strap my arms to the table again. When my body relaxed, I cracked open my eyes to see her holding a goddamn fucking Taser.

"You cheated," I growled, feeling nauseous and jittery from the effects of losing blood and being electroshocked.

She wrapped her fingers around the scalpel in her eye and slowly pulled, still whining in agony. The blade came out with a nasty squelch, leaving behind a viscous, jellied mess in her eye socket.

"I like it. Improves your looks," I told her weakly.

Her eyes—_eye_, I reminded myself with a silent laugh—shone with pure, unadulterated rage. "You're going to regret that," she promised me wrathfully.

"My only regret is that I missed your jugular."

Madness had overtaken her, I could see it—the last tenuous threads of her sanity snapped in an instant. She raised the scalpel high and began hacking away indiscriminately at my exposed arm nerves. If I'd been in a right state of mind, I might've taunted her about her sloppy form. As it was, I only heard an agonized scream before belatedly realizing it was coming from me. Tomoe looked on the verge of ecstasy. "They never stay quiet for long," she hissed triumphantly.

So. This was it—the end of the line. I was feeling progressively fainter, cold beginning to wrack my body. I screwed my eyes shut and clenched my jaw, unwilling to let Tomoe see my suffering and determined to defy her to the last.

A loud bang startled both Tomoe and me, her little jump causing the scalpel to cut deeper and bring on a fresh wave of pain. "POLICE, FREEZE!" A familiar voice bellowed. Several blue-clad figures were pointing guns at Tomoe, a shock of orange hair on the head of the one in front. The cavalry had arrived.

Tomoe had to have realized she had no way out, yet she was still smiling, her one good eye crinkled in mirth. "Hello, officers. Did you come here for Natsuki?"

"Drop your weapon! Hands on your head, fucker!" Mai shouted, her gun trained on Tomoe.

Tomoe hummed in thought before shaking her head. "No, I don't think I will. You see, right now I'm holding the scalpel directly above Natsuki's radial artery. Come any closer and I'll sever it. She'll bleed out in thirty seconds."

Mai took a step forward. "One more step and it'll be her last breath," Tomoe warned, gesturing at me.

"Shoot her," I slurred, hoping Mai could hear me and put a bullet in the bitch. She hesitated.

A shot rang out. Mai and the other officers immediately took cover, as if none of them had fired the gun. A wet spray of red burst from Tomoe's hand, revealing a neat hole in the middle of her palm and forcing her to drop the scalpel. She gaped at her mangled hand in shock.

"I believe she said to drop your weapon." A familiar figure stepped out from the shadows. I was weak, cold, and in an unbelievable amount of pain, yet that voice still prompted a smile on my face.

"Shizuru?" Tomoe yelped disbelievingly, betrayal flitting across her face.

Still holding the smoking gun, Shizuru strode forward and punched her in the face. I swear I heard something crack before the cops pounced, two of them taking care of the crazed doctor while Mai barked orders into a walkie-talkie. "I need an ambulance, stat! Victim has severe damage to arm, possibly bleeding out—"

Someone slapped me hard, causing my eyes to snap open. I hadn't even realized they were closed.

"Natsuki, stay awake," Shizuru ordered. Her face was swimming in and out of focus, desperation and worry and yes, love, shining in her eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," I said weakly. I caught sight of the stream of blood jetting out of my mangled arm in an arc—looks like Tomoe made good on her threat after all. Someone was putting pressure on the injury, but I couldn't feel anything, my entire body having gone numb.

"She's going into shock," another person shouted above me.

"Shizuru?" I gasped out. The edges of my vision were dimming.

"I'm right here, Natsuki." She sounded on the verge of tears, panic coating her voice.

"Nice shot." Everything went black.

* * *

><p>Flashing lights. Loud voices. Pain, pain, pain. I'm a kid again, sitting in the playground sandbox, hearing my mother tell me she'll be back soon. I look up to see her walking away from me. I can't remember her face anymore.<p>

Square white tiles, a pattern of fluorescent lights rushing by. I think I'm on my back, but I'm confused—ten years old, I think, and waking in an alley underneath a heavy body. He's trying to take my pants off, but too strung out on drugs to make any progress. I reach for the switchblade in my pocket and jab it in his back. He screams, I slide out from under him and run. Several blocks away, I look at the blood on my hands and bend over to throw up. First time stabbing someone.

Someone's squeezing my hand. The kind old man who found me holds my hand as we walk into Garderobe, making sure I don't bolt. He speaks to a stern-looking lady—they both turn to look at me. I ignore them and look around, spotting a girl with crimson eyes peeking at me from behind a door. I scowl and flip her off, surprised when she laughs. The man pats my head before he's out the door, leaving me at Garderobe. I don't care. Anything's better than the city-run orphanages. The woman—Maria Graceburt, I dimly remember—says something to the girl, who takes my hand and leads me away.

She'll be my first friend, my first kiss, my first _everything_. Fourteen years old—I lose my virginity to her, all shaking hands and soft kisses. Graceburt finds out after one of the older girls tattles—we're punished for an entire two months because virgins are worth more to clients, but secret smiles shared makes everything worth it.

Something covered my nose and mouth. I tried to shake it off, clinging to the girl with crimson eyes. Hands gripped my head, forcing me to stay still. I panicked, limbs lashing out. Something sharp was stuck in my arm.

Then, nothing.

* * *

><p>The first thing I was aware of when I came to was a warm red, the color painted in my field of vision as light suffused through my eyelids. Sunlight was streaming through the window when I opened my eyes; I immediately squinted against the brightness. I was too dazed to do anything else but <em>feel<em>: the dryness in my throat, the slight scratchiness of the blankets against my legs, my chest rising up and down with each breath, an uncomfortable throbbing sensation in my left arm, a soft pressure on top of my right hand. I laid still for a moment, trying to recall the last thing that happened to me. Oh, right, some crazy bitch was trying to kill me.

I rolled my head to the right and drank in the sight. Shizuru was dozing in the chair right next to me, her head nestled in the crook of her elbow on the bed. I absentmindedly noted the knuckles on her right hand were bruised. Moving my hand out from underneath hers to brush the pads of my fingertips against her cheek, I hastily withdrew it when she began to stir. Crimson eyes sleepily blinked open.

"Sorry." My voice was raspy.

Shizuru shot upright and grabbed a cup of water, pressing the straw against my lips to help me drink. "How do you feel?"

"Like crap." I let my head fall back on the pillow, noticing my left arm was wrapped in white bandages and in a sling. "Where am I?"

Her expression turned hesitant. "Natsuki, welcome to purgatory."

I choked on my water. "_What_?"

"Just kidding." She flashed a smile. "You're in Windbloom General."

I scowled at her. "I hate you."

"And I love you," she responded simply, stunning me into silence.

Well. It really was simple as that. And after the complicated shitstorm I'd just barely survived, I could use a little simple.

Shizuru pressed the call button. "Go back to sleep. The nurse can get you more painkillers if you need them."

"All I need is you," I mumbled as a pretty nurse bustled in with a needle and shooed Shizuru away to inject it into the IV line.

"Oh, _gag_," someone drawled from the doorway, overriding the brilliant smile Shizuru sent my way. I turned my head and groaned at seeing Chie and Nao, who clearly heard what I said.

Chie smacked Nao. "Behave, woman."

Nao smirked and held up a large bouquet of flowers. "Reito sent these. He said, and I quote: 'Get well soon—but not too soon.'"

"Tell him thanks, and that I want my money by the end of the week," I retorted.

A doctor in a white lab coat entered the room. I instinctively flinched at seeing him; like some sort of Pavlovian conditioning, my gut reaction was to associate the lab coat with Tomoe and pain.

If he noticed my reaction, he politely chose not to mention it. "How are you feeling, Miss Kuga?"

"Oh, you know. Like I've been stabbed a few times," I deadpanned.

"Can you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?"

I mulled over the question. My arm throbbed as if in reminder. "Six, pushing seven."

The doctor scribbled something down on the clipboard and nodded at the nurse. "Miss Senoh has just administered your medication, so it should be kicking in momentarily." He beamed at me. "You're very lucky to be alive, you know."

"Am I really?" I asked sarcastically. Shizuru nudged me.

He nodded, unperturbed. "You almost bled out in the ambulance. They were able to do an emergency transfusion en route to the hospital because Miss Fujino knew your blood type. It probably saved your life."

I turned to Shizuru. "Stalker. Who knows that kind of information about a person?"

"Someone who doesn't make a habit of getting stabbed, idiot," she returned.

The man cleared his throat to get my attention. "We performed an emergency arterioplasty to stop the bleeding from your left radial artery, but we'll need to schedule another surgery to repair some very serious nerve damage."

"Okay." I blinked slowly, trying to combat the drugs making their way through my system. "Hey, what do you call someone who was graduated last in his class from medical school?"

"I don't know, what?" He asked patiently.

"Doctor." I laughed to myself.

He chuckled. "I'll come back later for another check-up. Make sure you don't strain that arm."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't want to pay an arm and a leg for you to fix my arm." My brow furrowed in thought. "Then I'd just end up with no leg."

Nao cackled. "Those drugs must be good shit. Where can I get some?"

"The hospital pharmacy, probably," I informed her.

"No need to worry about the bill, Miss Kuga—it's all taken care of. You've got a fairy godmother somewhere out there paying for everything." With that, he left the room.

"I have a fairy godmother? Who?" I asked Shizuru. She shrugged, not as curious as I was.

"So is it true?" Nao asked, raising an eyebrow. Chie turned away from where she'd been flirting with the nurse to look at me inquisitively, too.

"Is what true?" I grumbled, suddenly feeling fatigued.

"You had a run-in with Dr. Death?"

"Who?"

"Tomoe Marguerite, Windbloom City's very own serial killer extraordinaire," Chie narrated in an announcer's voice. "The city is in uproar. A murderer of her own volition, or a puppet used by her mother to consolidate political power? I smell a cover-up."

"That's just your perfume," Nao told her.

"Sounds like a villain from a bad comic," I complained petulantly.

"The nickname's caught on, though," someone else chimed in. Yukino walked in, closely trailed by Haruka. "I've been up all night writing down my take on Marguerite's arrest. It's going to be my magnum opus, Natsuki."

"Only four visitors at a time," the nurse gently interjected.

Chie was immediately on her feet and winked at her. "Right as always, Aoi."

"You just met her," Nao interrupted snidely.

Chie ignored her and held out her arm. "Would you mind showing me the way to the cafeteria? I get lost pretty easily."

"That's because you're a dumb shit," Nao muttered, but Aoi giggled and led Chie out the door. Nao rolled her eyes and paused before following, mumbling something about being the third wheel.

"What's the news on Tomoe?" Shizuru asked Yukino.

"The police are trying to keep everything quiet until more details are known, but the media's in a frenzy. There are different accounts being thrown left and right—it's going to take some time for the truth to come out."

"No, they can't let her out," I said angrily. "She'll disappear like _that_—" I snapped my fingers to emphasize my point before becoming distracted by them.

Yukino shook her head in satisfaction. "She's being held without bail. No one knows exactly how many victims she's had over the years, but at least ten bodies were already found on her killing grounds. The most lenient sentence she'll get is life in prison."

I slumped against the pillow in relief. "Fabulous."

Haruka laughed to herself. "You two really did a number on her, though."

"Oh?" Shizuru raised an eyebrow.

"First Kuga over here took out Marguerite's eye, then you permanently crippled her hand and fractured her jaw. Well done, Fujino." Haruka looked pleased.

"Shizuru has a killer right hook. I would know," I told her.

"This is good, though. Marguerite now looks every bit like the criminal she is. Public opinion is very shallow—she'll get no sympathy from them," Yukino assured. "I suppose the police will be taking credit for everything."

"The less attention on us, the better," Shizuru said.

"_Finally_ someone's thinking ahead," a voice interrupted. Mai stepped into the room, looking as haggard as I felt.

"You look like hell," I stated bluntly.

"I take it you haven't seen a mirror yet," she riposted. "I've been up all night dealing with the fallout of Marguerite's arrest because Commissioner Huit's disappeared from her post."

"What fallout?" A notebook had materialized in Yukino's hands, pencil poised over the paper.

Mai turned to her. "You're Yukino? Thanks for the tip last night. We wouldn't have found Natsuki otherwise. And what I'm about to say is off the record—for now."

"Fair enough."

Mai started ticking off on her fingers. "One: District Attorney Kurauchi is building up an intense case against Tomoe Marguerite—he's pushing for death row. The Mayor is _not_ happy. She's on a rampage—firing, bribing, and probably even threatening quite a few people. We'll have an arrest or an assassination before the week's out—don't ask me whose. Two: the families of Marguerite's victims are out for _blood_, especially the poorer ones. Windbloom's working class is on the verge of rioting in the streets. Three: half the force just up and quit, because Marguerite is naming names and pointing fingers. So I hope you don't mind that the WCPD is taking credit for the arrest, because the department needs all the credibility it can get right now."

"All this from one arrest?" Shizuru mused.

"It opened up a goddamn Pandora's box. Secrets are coming into the light left and right and they're not pretty." Mai shook her head. "Change was a long time coming, but it doesn't make it any less harder to clean up after."

"Sucks to be you," I commented.

Mai rolled her eyes before her gaze shifted to Haruka. Her eyes narrowed. "Have we met before?"

Haruka eyed Mai's uniform. Her lips flickered in amusement, but she shook her head. "No."

Yukino stood up. "We have to go. Hope you feel better, Natsuki, and congratulations on a successful investigation!" She damn near dragged Haruka out the door.

Mai stared after them with pursed lips. "The blonde one looked familiar."

I shook my head. Nope, Haruka's face totally wasn't on the WCPD's wanted bulletin. "You don't know her," I said sagely. Jedi fucking mindtrick.

She shrugged and turned back to me. "So how're you feeling?"

"If one more person asks me that…" I scowled.

"Gotcha." Mai paused. "Oh, and another thing. I need to cover up in my report why I brought along a civilian to a hostage crisis." She glared at Shizuru. "Or why she didn't stay in the car like I told her to. And how she happened to make a nearly impossible shot with a gun that she didn't even have a license for."

Shizuru preened, looking impossibly smug. "Hypothetically speaking, you needed the civilian to come with you because she knew all the people at the gala who owned Ferraris. This civilian also had a vested interest in the kidnapped party at hand and was only forced to take action because of police incompetence, though the civilian would have no idea about making an amazing shot with a gun she didn't have because she is an upstanding citizen."

"So I shouldn't mention that this civilian is also romantically involved with one of the best marksmen I've ever seen?" Mai asked sarcastically.

All these hypotheticals made my head hurt. I raised my hand and sang out, "Guilty!"

Mai raised her eyebrows and looked at Shizuru. "Ignore her, she's on drugs," Shizuru assured her.

I yawned, feeling the drug-induced drowsiness overcome me. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Mai."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Why the hell didn't you come sooner?" I grumbled sleepily. "I was counting on you. What about bloody scalpel and missing Ferrari and dead clients don't add up to homicidal, egocentric doctor to you?"

"What are you talking about?" Mai furrowed her brow. "I came as fast as I could. Telling me to watch out for Ferraris isn't much to go on, you know. If it weren't for Fujino telling us which Ferrari owner had disappeared from the gala, we wouldn't have gotten to you in time. I don't even know how you knew Marguerite would have a Ferrari."

I was teetering on the cusp of sleep. "Dai Artai's car was gone after his death, remember? It was a nice set of wheels; no way anyone would've left it alone. Then Marguerite tried to slit my throat, but she messed up and got away by car. The engine was loud, characteristic of sports cars, which made me think the killer took Dai Artai's Ferrari."

"She tried to kill you before? Why the hell didn't you let me know?" Mai demanded.

The edge between consciousness and unconsciousness slipped out from under my feet. "That's why I sent you the scalpel she dropped. God, what kind of cop are you?"

The last thing I heard before falling asleep was, "I never got a scalpel, Natsuki."

* * *

><p><em>One or two chapters left, people! I might actually finish a story for once, yayyyy. ;)<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you for your kind reviews! Sorry if the last chapter was a little too detailed—I don't get squeamish about that kind of stuff, so I didn't realize how gruesome I made it. My entire family's in the medical field so we talk about medical procedures and stuff like that at the dinner table. It's like, "I saw someone's leg get amputated today." "Fascinating! Pass the potatoes, please." [Not those exact words, but you get the gist.]_

_**Caution:** This chapter contains violence. You have been warned.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Ever been in a hospital at night? Dark rooms offset by too-bright fluorescent lights in the hallways and above the nurses' station, the constant beeping of machines, the solitary, echoing footsteps of a night nurse making her rounds, the rattling wheezing of the patient in the neighboring bed.<p>

Nighttime seems to be when most patients die, when some fall asleep and simply don't wake up the next day. I swore I could almost _feel_ the souls brushing past me as they slipped out of cold bodies and into the night.

To put it bluntly, being in a hospital at night fucking sucks.

I was hovering on the edge of lucidity, close enough that I would be sober in several minutes. The pain slowly creeping up my arm alerted me to the fact that Aoi would come in soon and replace the morphine drip with a new bag.

I liked my drugs as much as the next person, but not tonight—I had unfinished business. Taking the needle out of my arm would be too conspicuous, so I tied a knot in the IV line and hid it underneath the blankets.

Right on cue, Aoi quietly entered the room with a new IV bag and smiled at me. "Did Shizuru go home, Natsuki?"

"Yep. Had to be dragged out kicking and screaming by Haruka and Yukino."

She chuckled. "I don't know her that well, but I doubt she's the type to kick and scream."

"It was a very elegant kicking and screaming," I assured her. "I needed my beauty sleep, and that would've never happened if she stayed the night." I punctuated my statement with a suggestive wiggle of my eyebrows.

"Well, I think you're recovering quite nicely if you're thinking of doing _that_," Aoi said in amusement. "But just in case, I'll give replace your morphine. That should allow you to sleep comfortably through the night."

Shouting and running footsteps sounded in the hallway, distracting us both. Aoi darted out of the room before quickly returning. "I have to go, there was a twelve-car pileup on the highway," she said hurriedly.

I nodded. "Is it bad?"

Aoi grimaced. "I'm not sure, but from the looks of it, it's _very_ bad. If you need anything, just press the call button," she told me before rushing away.

I craned my neck to see doctors and nurses running by with some poor guy on a bloody gurney, headed straight to surgery. Death had arrived on our doorstep—Youko, I'm sure, was going to be very, very busy tonight.

I wasn't going to waste such a perfect opportunity. Ripping the needle out and allowing myself a wince, I got out of the bed with shaky legs. I waited for the next batch of frenetic doctors to whiz by with a patient before slipping out of the room.

_-000-000-_

Bare feet up on coffee table, right arm cradling the left. I reclined on the couch of her apartment in the darkness, perpendicular to the door, waiting for her to come home. Now I'm no expert, but I've learned over the years that someone's home could say a lot about that person. And the spartan decorations and near-OCD levels of neatness and order in Youko's apartment told me she was methodical, she was a loner, and she had nothing to lose.

I remained relaxed even as the scrape of a key being inserted into a lock sounded. There was a quiet click before the door was pushed open to admit the apartment's sole resident. A weak ray of light peeked in from the hallway before disappearing as quickly as it came, blocked off by a closed door. From the steady clicking of heels against the wooden flooring, I almost thought she didn't notice me until she turned around and pointed a gun at my head.

I didn't even blink. "Interesting reaction for a doctor."

"What can I say? The world's a dangerous place," Youko simply replied.

"Especially when you don't know who your allies are." I sat up and tossed the plastic bag holding a blood-encrusted scalpel onto the table.

The gun never wavered. I sighed. "Put down the gun, Doc, and pull up a chair. We should talk."

She eyed me but complied, bringing a chair to sit across from me. I didn't comment on the fact that the gun remained cradled on her lap.

"Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" She asked calmly.

"I should." I nodded.

She took in the too-big shirt and too-short jeans I was wearing and raised an eyebrow. "Where did you get the clothes?"

I shrugged. "Someone's laundry line. That'll teach them to hang up clothes in the middle of the night."

"You're bad."

"And you're a murderer."

"Ah. Straight to the crux of the matter." She smiled grimly. "I'm curious, what is your definition of murderer, Natsuki? Because I never laid a single hand on those people."

"No, you didn't," I agreed. "So tell me how you're a part of this, Doc, because things just don't add up. I wouldn't even have known you never gave in the scalpel until Mai mentioned it—I wouldn't have known I almost _died_ because of you!" I growled, sucking in a breath when I accidentally jostled my arm.

"Are you in pain?" Youko asked, ever the perfect doctor.

"You have _no_ idea," I hissed.

That seemed to strike a nerve. "I am more familiar with pain than you have ever been," she replied coldly.

"Does it have anything to do with her?" I help up a photograph of a younger Youko and a redheaded woman together, which I found in the very back of a drawer and the only possession that seemed to hold any sentiment for her.

I mentally patted my back when her eyes narrowed in anger, the first display of emotion I was able to draw from her. "You went through my stuff?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"Duh. Thought the scalpel would've tipped you off." I scrutinized it more closely. The pretty redhead was grinning broadly at the camera, her arm around Youko and flashing the victory sign with her fingers. Younger Youko's smile was just as broad, the complete antithesis of the Youko sitting before me now. "Who is she? Friend, cousin, girlfriend, fiancée—"

"Girlfriend. She was my girlfriend." Her voice was raw with pain and she noticed, clearing her throat before continuing. "Her name was Midori Sugiura."

Her use of past tense didn't escape my notice. "What happened?" I asked gently.

"She was raped and murdered right in front of me," Youko said blankly. Like she was reciting some fact that she knew as true, but didn't know how or why it was.

Ah, fuck. "I'm sorry," I told her as genuinely as I could, knowing those words wouldn't mean shit to her.

Something inside of Youko snapped. "You want to know how I'm a part of this, Natsuki? Very well." She smiled mockingly at me. "Picture this: seventeen years old, you're walking home with your girlfriend after a late-night movie when someone comes up behind you and hits you on the head. And when you regain consciousness, imagine you're tied up and lying on the ground, unable to look away while some fucking pig is on top of your girlfriend and raping her to death. Then you look up and see a boy, can't be much younger than you, staring with wide eyes from the mouth of the alley. You call out for help, thinking him to be your savior, thinking he'll call the police, when he drops everything he's holding and runs away. Nothing left to do as the rapist finishes with your girlfriend and turns to you. In the end, you live and she dies. The stage is set, so ends Act 1, Scene 1. The rest of the act is the month-long stay in the hospital, the trial, the acquittal. Oh, but I'm sure you're wondering who the actors in this play are?" Youko let out a bitter laugh, her words spitting out like bullets. "Fifteen years ago, Yuuichi Tate wasn't a CEO; he was the heir to a gym franchise and a self-entitled little prick with a nasty rape fetish. Miya Clochette wasn't a wealthy socialite; she was the pretty girlfriend who provided a false alibi for her rapist boyfriend. Nagi Dai Artai wasn't a politician; he was the litigator who convinced the jury to exonerate a serial rapist due to 'lack of evidence.' And finally, Kazuya Kurauchi wasn't District Attorney, he was a boy who ran away and the witness who never came forward."

"Jesus Christ," I muttered in disbelief. My mind flashed back to Kazuya's words at the night of the gala. He spoke about seeking atonement for something he failed to do—this was what he was talking about, his guilt over running away and leaving two girls to die, one in body and one in spirit.

"Don't interrupt, I'm not finished," Youko said glibly. "In Act Two comes true justice, swift and merciless. I was angry, I was bitter, but I didn't have the money or the means to carry out satisfactory revenge. So I locked away the desire for retribution and carried on with my life, empty as it was, letting it simmer inside of me. And then in medical school, I met Tomoe Marguerite." She scoffed. "The idiot had already been caught for trying to dissect a live patient. She was unpredictable, but I realized I could use her. She was from old money and fit right in with my enemies. She was the perfect puppet."

"So you used her? But how?" My unease grew with every word she said. This Youko was markedly different, and she was making me nervous.

"I was the perfect acquaintance," Youko said reminiscently. "A tolerable classmate who eventually became a tolerable colleague, becoming recognizable enough to Tomoe that I wouldn't be stepping out of place to mention I saw her girlfriend with several persons who were not her."

"And the girlfriend happened to be Shizuru," I said flatly.

She nodded thoughtfully. "I fanned the flames of her obsession with Shizuru Fujino until it became an inferno, flattering her into thinking she and Shizuru were passable as a couple—as if nobody could see the animal desperation and possessiveness she exuded around the girl. It took barely a whisper to point her at Yuuichi, and then at Miya, and finally Dai Artai."

"And Tomoe was supposed to try to kill Kurauchi, not me," I concluded. "But Anh Lu?"

Youko shrugged, apathy written in the motion. "Her death was unfortunate collateral damage."

"'Unfortunate collateral damage?'" I repeated in disbelief. "You killed an innocent woman!"

"Tomoe killed her—"

"Under your influence! It's as much your fault as it is hers!"

"Which is why I indulged you and let the police know it was a murder. I supposed I owed it to the woman for dying for my cause."

"But you never intended for Tomoe to get caught."

"Not until Kazuya was dead, no."

"Then why did you help me out in the first place? Why tell me about the sleeping pills being ground into Yuuichi Tate's food?" At her smirk, my stomach dropped. "They weren't sleeping pills, were they?"

"Oh no, they were—just laced with arsenic as added insurance and to make it as painful as possible." She chuckled. "It was an agonizing death for him; I'm sorry I missed it. Since I was in charge of the hospital autopsy report, I thought no one would find his death questionable. However, you came along and surprised me, and I wondered how close you could come to the truth." She cocked her head. "I'm curious, how _did_ you know his death was suspicious in the first place?"

"Shizuru contacted me the second she found out about Tate's death."

"Why?"

"The man was the head of a gym chain—practically considered his body a temple. No way in hell would he have taken sleeping pills, even if he had insomnia. By the time Miya died, she knew something was up and called me. We agreed I should keep my distance so I could investigate from a broader standpoint—I was already on this case long before Reito hired me."

"Ah. So you and Shizuru are together? I had no idea, you hid it well."

I shivered at the unfamiliar gleam in Youko's eye. Over the course of her confession, it was as if a mask had fallen off her face, leaving behind someone—_something_—far more ugly and dangerous. "And what's Act Three?"

Youko spread out her arms. "Here we are." Her smirk was challenging, daring me to make my move. "You don't seem as confident as before, Natsuki," she noted.

"What kind of person does it take to successfully manipulate a serial killer?" I asked quietly.

"Tomoe was erratic and impulsive, prone to making mistakes and leaving clues everywhere. She couldn't compete with me, not when I have one advantage over her."

"What's that?"

"Psychopaths are born…sociopaths are made."

Sociopath. It made sense in hindsight. Besides from the mention of Midori, she'd remained relatively unemotional about everything I confronted her about. And oh, was she an amazing actress—appearing perfectly normal at the hospital, no one noticing that her smile was a little too wide or her sadness a little too rehearsed. The way she'd reacted when I asked her about Tate and Lu—the slight trepidation at working on a murder case, the wide-eyed eagerness to catch a killer—had blinded me completely. She'd played me like a fiddle—a veritable virtuoso.

"Is that what you are?" I asked carefully.

"I'm not interested in labels," Youko said in amusement. "It's certainly a possibility, however."

I came to her apartment thinking I had the upper hand, but the realization dawned on me that I made a terrible, potentially fatal mistake. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Why would you think that?" She asked mildly.

"I know the truth now."

"And do you think that makes me a bad person?"

I mulled it over. If it had been Shizuru and me, would I have ended up the same way Youko did? "I don't think I have the right to say."

"Who does?" She asked rhetorically. "I suppose you could have me arrested, but there would be no evidence to keep me behind bars. I heard from Officer Tokiha that Tomoe's attorney has decided to plead insanity on her behalf, so even if she could corroborate your story her testimony would be invalid in court. I wouldn't try it if I were you."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, merely a statement." She leaned forward. "I have no reason to kill you, Natsuki. I will, however, become very annoyed if anything delays me from killing Kazuya Kurauchi."

"You can't kill him," I automatically responded before wanting to smack myself. Never, under any circumstances, argue with a sociopath.

"But I can. I can make his death look like an accident in a myriad of ways—"

"No, I'm not saying you're incapable of killing him, I'm saying you _shouldn't._"

"Ah." Youko's tone was suddenly chilling. "He let Midori die—I'm just returning the favor."

"I don't know what it feels like to lose everything—"

"That can be easily remedied. I have Shizuru's entire schedule memorized," Youko taunted. "Flaunting her body around like a slut, she has no idea what sick fantasies her clients can dream of, fantasies I can make come true for them—"

"Don't you fucking dare touch her." The timbre of my voice was low and dangerous, barely even recognizable to myself.

"Then don't get in my way." Her voice was deceptively calm again, her mood switching from back and forth from manic to serene at a speed that made my head spin.

"Doc—Youko—he's so, so sorry for that night. You don't understand—"

"SORRY WON'T BRING HER BACK!" She lunged forward and gripped my damaged arm with one hand, purposely squeezing and twisting to maximize my pain. Stars exploded behind my eyes and I crumpled over in agony. Beyond the searing ache in my arm, I recognized the hard sensation of the barrel of the gun digging into my stomach.

"Neither will killing him," I gasped out. I was pushing my luck here, and I knew it. There was only one thing that seemed to spur an emotional response, a _human _reaction from her, but using it could also elicit an unstable backlash and sign my death warrant.

"I don't want to hurt you, Natsuki," she said soothingly, belying her words by digging her thumb further into my injury.

I felt lightheaded and oxygen-deprived, darkness beginning to dim the edges of my vision. If I passed out right now, in front of her, I might as well be dead. So I exploited her one vulnerability. "He can bring Midori back to life."

"What?" Youko reared back, looking genuinely stunned. "No, you're lying to me. You're lying! No one can come back from the dead." Her grip on my arm loosened enough that I could jerk it out of her grasp. Little dots of red were beginning to appear on the white gauze, but my arm seemed fine otherwise.

"Who is Midori Sugiura to anyone?" I pressed on. "No one remembers her name, no one cares if she's dead! But Kurauchi—he remembers, he regrets, he wants to atone for his sins. He wants to make Windbloom a better place in her name! He's demanding all these reforms that will make sure people like Tate and Tomoe go to jail for life, oust corrupt officials like Dai Artai from their positions, deny people like Clochette special privileges just because they're rich—protect the city from people like _you_. Can't you see he's making her a martyr?"

"He turned away from us! He could have saved her!" Youko raged. "No, whatever he's doing is to assuage his own guilt. What I'm doing is all for her!"

"And what exactly are you doing besides killing? You think that's how she would've wanted to be remembered—with more blood and pain? You haven't done anything for her except turn into a monster," I snapped.

A dense silence suddenly settled over the apartment. There was a ringing in my ears, my heart pounding as I stared at Youko with no fucking clue how she would react next.

She shifted in her seat, and my hand instinctively flinched toward the spot where I usually kept my gun. She chuckled. "Do I make you nervous, Natsuki?" She asked. She sounded vaguely rueful, her question tinged with melancholy. I narrowed my eyes—was it just another trick?

"Yes."

"You don't seem it."

"I've had practice…"

"Dealing with people like me?" She finished for me. At my nod, she sat back and simply looked me over. "When I look at you, I don't feel anything. I might have liked you, in the past, but now…hurt you, heal you, it would all be the same to me," she admitted. "But I loved Midori. I really, really loved her," she swore, voice cracking with grief.

I stared back, unsure if this Youko was even capable of loving or if all she had left were memories of once being in love. But I had nothing else to lose. "Kill Kurauchi, and Midori will be just another victim of this city. Let him live, and she'll be responsible for every single reform that follows. She'll live on forever, Youko."

She immediately shook her head. "No. I can't stand to see him live, not when he doesn't deserve to. Either he dies, or I do."

I swallowed a sigh and slowly stood up. There was nothing more to be said. "If I said I was done talking…would you let me walk out of here alive?"

"Perhaps. You'll have to find out for yourself."

I cautiously pocketed the scalpel and handed the photo to her. "She's beautiful. You both were."

"Yes." Her fingers traced over Midori's face, the look on her face almost wistful. "No matter how many years pass…she'll never be older than seventeen."

"I'm sorry things turned out this way." I backed away slowly, keeping my eyes trained on her, hoping to God that if she wanted me dead she would've shot me by now.

"If it means anything, I regret dragging you and your Shizuru into this," she spoke without looking, her eyes refusing to lift from the photograph.

"You don't mean that."

She didn't argue.

I turned around to open the door and flinched when there was a sudden gunshot. I hunched forward, expecting there to be a hole in my back, but the only pain I felt was the throbbing in my arm.

I looked back to Youko.

Well.

She did say either he dies, or she does.

I stumbled down the steps into the street and hailed a taxi, disheveled and bloody and in a sorry state. Sorry for Midori, and Youko, and Kazuya; for Shizuru and Yukino and Haruka and everyone else stuck in this shithole, past, present, and future. I spared a little sorry for myself and even some for Aoi, who must've been flipping a shit right now. I bet she's never lost a patient before.

I collapsed into the backseat of the taxi, almost too tired to shut the door after me. "Windbloom General," I told the driver.

He looked unimpressed by the blood seeping through the bandages on my arm. "Don't stain the upholstery. Blood is a bitch to get out."

I halfheartedly flipped him off in response and settled back for the ride. We were halfway across Windbloom Bridge when an idea struck. "Stop the car."

He obediently stepped on the brakes, both of us ignoring the loud honking that sounded from behind. I got out, muttering a hasty "be right back," and darted over to the railing. Plunging a hand into my pocket, I brought out the scalpel to study the brownish-red color staining the blade. Then I threw it as hard as I could, watching as it spun through the air, silver gleaming in the breaking dawn before disappearing into the murky water with a barely-noticeable splash.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>:

Into the building that smelled of mold, past peeling wallpaper in the hallways, small jump over the questionable stains in the carpet, trip over the garbage bag in the middle of the hall, end up before a faded green door. I raised my good hand and rapped on the door.

The door flew open and the barrel of a gun was in my face. "Kuga. Out of the hospital, I see." Haruka lowered the gun and stepped aside to let me in.

"Haruka. Paranoid as ever, I see. You should really invest in one of those door peepholes, that way you don't have to point a gun at every person who knocks on your door," I said to annoy her.

"Natsuki! I didn't expect you'd come!" Yukino called out from her office. "Did you read the news?"

"Nope. That's what you're for, isn't it?"

She bounded out of her office, practically quivering in excitement. "Windbloom's city council, pushed by Kazuya Kurauchi, passed a series of new laws this morning that will overhaul the legislative and court systems and kickstart whole new ones. It's going to take major effort, but I think it just may work."

"Exciting," I deadpanned. Yukino gave me a dirty look. "What? Politics were never my thing."

"And Tomoe Marguerite was sentenced to life in prison today under another new law, also pushed by Kurauchi—he's calling it the Midori Sugiura Act."

"Who's that?" Haruka asked bluntly.

"Some girl who was raped and murdered years ago by—get this—Yuuichi Tate," Yukino explained. "Miya Clochette was his girlfriend at the time, and Nagi Dai Artai was his lawyer. Tate got off, but new evidence is implicating him as a serial rapist. His family is suing for slander, of course," she added in disgust.

"So Tate killed this girl, while Clochette and Dai Artai made sure he stayed a free man? Then Marguerite killed them and is being locked up for the rest of her life under a law named after the girl?" Haruka mulled it over before looking pleased. "I like it. There's a kind of poetic justice to it."

I hummed noncommittally, careful not to let my expression change. So it seems Kazuya got the note I sent him. It wasn't complete atonement, but it was a start.

"Anyway, shouldn't you be resting? You've had quite the week," Yukino chastised me.

"So says the journalist who was just tapped for the Pulitzer Prize. Brilliant exposé on the rampant corruption in Windbloom City, by the way," I complimented.

She chuckled. "Thank you. Though, I couldn't have done it without the work of a certain private detective."

"Ah. She must be brilliant."

"Reckless to the point of suicidal, actually, but to each her own."

I smirked at her. "Whatever works."

Yukino rolled her eyes. "In all seriousness, how're you doing?"

"Surviving."

"And your arm?" She looked pointedly at the sling supporting my left arm.

I shrugged. "Damaged nerves. Can't really feel anything."

"Permanent?"

"Maybe. Doctors say only time will tell. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" She said mildly.

"Oh, you know. Just for helping with the investigation and everything. It's been fun."

She scrutinized me carefully. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

I chuckled ruefully. Sharp as a tack, our Yukino. "Things are getting too hot for me now."

"You think?" Yukino smiled half-heartedly. "Rumor has it that Mayor Marguerite's out for your blood."

"Former mayor," I corrected with a smirk. "And I expect with the heat our venerable District Attorney and new Police Commissioner are putting on her, I've got enough time to disappear."

Yukino grinned. "Two steps ahead like always."

I held out my hand for a handshake. "Give Commissioner Tokiha my regards. I'd go see her myself, but the WCPD still hates my guts."

"Will do." To my surprise, Yukino stepped forward and completely bypassed my outstretched hand to wrap me in a hug. "Take care of yourself."

I was never an affectionate person, but hell, it was probably the last time I was going to see Yukino. I squeezed back with my good arm. "You, too."

When we separated, Haruka raised an eyebrow at me. "I guess you won't be able to dual wield those guns of yours anymore, huh?"

"Guess not."

"Shame. You were pretty good."

My mouth twisted up. A compliment on my shooting skills was the nicest Haruka would ever get. Instead, I just gave her a nod and headed for the door. "You better watch out for Yukino, Haruka With-No-Last-Name."

"Actually, it's Kikukawa now," she grumbled.

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the blonde uncomprehendingly. Looking between her red cheeks and a smirking Yukino, the light bulb lit over my head. "You got married?" I said incredulously. "And I wasn't invited?"

Yukino laughed. "You were in the hospital. It wasn't a big deal."

"Are you kidding me? I would've killed to see Haruka in a white dress."

The blonde scowled at the smug look I sent her. "Get out of here, Kuga."

I saluted her and turned my back on a reformer and her mercenary for the last time. I was never the best at saying goodbye.

Outside, the sun was a pale yellow circle set in a blue-gray sky. Autumn was giving way to winter, its slow death heralded by a distinctive crisp scent in the air. Windbloom City was going to have its first snowfall of the year tonight; I was almost sorry I was going to miss it.

"Need a ride?"

I turned my head. Shizuru was leaning against her car with her arms crossed, biting her lip and tilting her head to the side as she waited for an answer. Her eyes sparkled when I laughed. "I bet that's the line you use to pick up all the ladies."

"No. Usually all I have to do is smile before they're swooning," she replied, opening the passenger door for me.

"Well, it'll take a lot more than a smile for me; I'm not that easy."

"That's not what I heard."

"Ouch, touché," I nodded wryly. "Did you talk to Pretty Boy?"

She winked at me slyly. "Maybe. Does that bother you?"

I considered it for a moment before shaking my head. "Funnily enough, no. He's a decent guy." I paused. "But he better have kept his hands to himself."

"Oh, he did."

"Good—"

"It's my hands that were wandering."

I scowled at her.

She shrugged coyly. "What? He's losing his star act for good—I felt obligated to give him a little something to remember me by."

"Well, see if I don't feel obligated to punch him in the face if I ever see him again—"

"Natsuki?"

"What?"

"It's a red light."

"Good, you know your colors," I said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up and kiss me already."

I scoffed. "Bossy, bossy—"

She silenced me with her lips, drawing back only when obnoxious beeping behind us let us know the light was green again.

"Look what I found while packing." She held out the photograph that had been in her desk.

It was of a younger Shizuru and Natsuki, once upon a time. We were backstage at Garderobe—Shizuru had her arms around me from behind with her chin on my shoulder; I looked taken off guard, wide eyes making me look younger than I was. I'd forgotten who had taken the photo, but I remembered it was right after Shizuru kissed me for the first time—the first time my bitter, jaded, cynical teenage-self had felt happiness, the first—and only—time I fell in love.

It made me think of another photo, of two other women who'd instead been torn apart by Windbloom City, the city that ate its young, where we gasped and flailed and struggled to stay afloat from the moment of birth, wasting years trying to make a life, but mostly only existing and waiting for our turn to die. Maybe Windbloom was changing, maybe there was hope—but there was no room for me anymore. I had no place here, had nothing to offer except reminders of what it used to be. I once told myself I would leave Windbloom if I had something to leave it for—and that was a fresh start, a chance with Shizuru.

"Left or right?" Shizuru drummed the steering wheel with her hands.

I looked up. We'd come to the outskirts of town, the sign proudly proclaiming, "You are now leaving Windbloom City." Another sign pointed out where each road led to, but I ignored it, focused only on the literal fork in my path. "Right," I decided impulsively.

We made a right and continued down that road. "Where does it go?" Shizuru asked.

"Away," I answered.

She chuckled to herself. "Just drive until you run out of gas," she said softly, echoing the words she asked me once.

I surreptitiously glanced at her; underneath all the teasing and flirting, I knew she was still shaken up about Tomoe, couldn't comprehend why anyone would kill for her. I suppose her closure came in the form of knowing Tomoe was going to rot in jail for the rest of her life.

There were only two people in the world who knew the truth. One of them was already dead; the other planned on taking it to the grave. That was my closure.

My path and Youko's had deviated greatly, and both of ours deviated from the millions of others in Windbloom. Sinners, all of us, and absolution was hard to attain—but who wanted it, anyway, when there was always a dame to kill for?

* * *

><p>1. <em>From my extensive research (aka Wikipedia), sociopaths and psychopaths are generally synonymous except sociopaths are shaped more by socialenvironmental influence and can hold some affection for a few people close to them, whereas psychopaths are more (though not completely) influenced by genetics and hold no affection for anybody._

_2. I have a short "after-credits" scene in mind, but this is essentially it. I FINALLY FINISHED A STORY, GUYS! High-fives all around! Thanks so much for sticking around, hope you weren't too confused! Let me know what you thought!_


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